


The Many Bitchfaces of Sam Winchester

by majesticduxk



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Gen, Mild Humour, Miscommunication, Show level violence, Spn Canon, brotherly relationships, canonical deaths, no permanent MCD, spn au, spn canon divergent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-12
Updated: 2017-06-12
Packaged: 2018-11-13 02:48:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 22,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11175417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/majesticduxk/pseuds/majesticduxk
Summary: Sam's always had a way with words. Dean's always admired it, respected it. But what he can do with a single facial expression? That's pure genius(art masterposthere)





	1. Chapter 1: Welcoming the newest Winchester to the family

**Author's Note:**

> a/n: There are five overarching chapters to this fic, but it's broken up into individual scenes. Each overarching chapter hasa name, the others are nameless. Please enjoy :)
> 
> This was written as part of the spn_j2_bb challenge run on lj, and as such, so many thank you’s are required! Thank you to my wonderful artist, [wincesterchola](http://winchesterchola.tumblr.com/) for the amazing art and enthusiastic encouragement!!! HUGE thank you to [deadmockinbirds](http://deadmockingbirds1.tumblr.com/), [whataboutthefish](http://whataboutthefish.tumblr.com/) and [ambersagen](http://ambersagen.tumblr.com/) for the cheerleading and readthrough, and a HUGE thank you to [whiskeygalore](https://whiskygalore.tumblr.com/) for the superfast and excellent beta under incredible time constraints. You are a goddess <3 And of course thank you to Wendy, for running this fantastic challenge.

[](http://imgur.com/cv08PQY)

**Bitchface 1: _I'm Hungry_**

"Is he supposed to look like that?"

Dean's question was soft, and mommy and daddy didn't actually hear. They were arguing about something -

“ _You try pushing something the size of a watermelon out of-_ "

"Mary! There are children present."

"Sam doesn't speak yet, John!"

"Dean, Mary. Our other son. And it was only a small watermelo-"

"I swear to god, John Winchester, you finish that sentence and these kids are going to be fatherless!"

\- and suddenly Dean was uncertain. This red, wrinkled thing didn’t look much like a watermelon. But it didn’t look much like a baby either.

"Are you a watermelon or a baby?"

Sammy - Mommy said his name was Sammy and Dean knew that, it was just hard to remember now that he wasn’t in mommy’s tummy - screwed up his face.

"You must be a baby," Dean decided. "I've never seen a watermelon with a face. But maybe you're a special kind of watermelon?"

Sam scowled harder, and Dean nodded. He knew what that expression meant.

“He’s hungry,” Dean announced to the room.

Mommy stopped glaring at Daddy long enough to look at Dean. "What’s that, baby?"

Mommy sounded distracted, and for moment Dean wasn’t sure who she was talking to: him, who had been the baby, or Sammy, who was now the baby. It didn’t take long for him to figure out Mommy was talking to him. Baby Sammy hadn’t spoken yet.

“I said he’s hungry, Mommy. The watermelon.”

"I... De... _John_!"

Laughing, Daddy leaned closer to Mommy and ran a hand along her hair. She smiled, which was good. He didn’t like it when mommy was upset.

“Sorry, Mary,” he soothed. “You did amazing. Now we have two wonderful boys, and I couldn’t be happier.”

Dean made a face as his parents smooched. Yuck. He was never going to do that. Ever. Sammy made another face, which Dean took as agreement. It soon morphed back into his hungry look.

“He’s hungry, Mommy. Baby Sammy,” he added. Just in case it hadn’t been clear enough.

Mommy laughed, but in that tired way. Why was Mommy tired anyway?

“Dean, honey, Sammy is-“

An almighty screech filled the air. Clapping his hands over his ears, Dean stared in shock at Sammy. That was really loud! Although he’d already figured out Sammy was a baby, he was definitely sure now. Watermelons didn’t make that sort of sound. Or any sound really.

Laughing, Daddy came over and gently picked up Sammy, who kept on fussing.

"You’re such a good big brother, Dean. Mommy just needs to feed her little watermelon."

"Oh for crying out loud, John."

Dean watched as mommy gently took Sammy and settled him on her breast. Loud sucking filled the room, and Dean looked askance. When he was that noisy at dinner, Mommy told him it was rude! Still, there was a big question remaining, because Daddy just said that Sammy was a watermelon…

"Am I a watermelon too?"

Daddy started laughing again, and Mommy just groaned. They didn't actually answer the question though, Dean noted with a pout.


	2. Chapter 2: Who said that school days were the best days of your life?

**Bitchface 5: _It's not fair_**

Dad hadn't been home in a few days.

"He said two days, Dean." Sam was sprawled across the carpet near the sofa, pouting like the damn brat he was. His homework was spread everywhere (no matter how hard Dean tried to keep the place neat, Sam just did his own thing), and he glared at Dean if he accidentally trod on any of it. Which really wasn't fair, since it wasn’t Dean’s fault it was messy. That, and Sam had set up in the walkway between the kitchen and the bathroom.

"It's only three days today, Sammy. He said he'll be back, and he'll be back."

"I want to go on the school trip, Dean. It’s only for the third graders – no other year! Just the third graders,” Sam repeated. That part was obviously really important. “And I've never been on one. _Never_. Last year, in Ridgeworth Dad made us move the day before we went to the horse place, and then in Bloomington he wouldn’t sign the permission slip, and it’s not fair, Dean! I want to go! I _need_ to, and I need him to sign the note, and I need the money, and I need-“

Carefully navigating Sam’s homework trap, Dean made his way to the kitchen. It was easy to tune out Sam's complaints. It wasn’t as if the kid didn’t have stuff to complain about. 

The day dad left, Sam's class had been given the permission slip for a farm excursion. Sam, of course, was thrilled. All he'd done for the first two days was talk about all the baby animals he was going to pat, and how they were going to see cows milked, and sheep shorn, and he’d feed the chickens, and maybe ride a pony. He really couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen the kid so excited.

And Dean wasn't even jealous. Despite being four years older, he'd never been on a school excursion, never been to a farm, or amusement park, or done any of the things that normal kids got to do. And he knew he never would – they had no money, and dad kept them moving…

But still. He really wanted this for Sam. Sam deserved all those kid things. Clenching his fist, Dean stared around the faded kitchen. It was another broken room in another broken motel: only one of the hotplates worked, the fridge was about to die, and Dean tried not to look too carefully at the black marks which mottled the ceiling and wall. Dean couldn’t even afford food, let something to get rid of the mould… a school trip was out of the question!

And even if he had the money, he remembered that time, the one at Ridgeworth. He’d practised Dad’s signature until he was _sure_ he had it right, and then signing the permission note, he’d handed it in for Sammy. It hadn’t been good enough though. And somehow just forging Dad’s signature meant all these other questions had been asked and- Dean closed his eyes, pained at the memory. One thing had led to another and the teacher had called the CPS. To say Dad hadn't been pleased was putting it lightly.

Much as he wanted his brother to go on this farm thing, he seriously didn’t want the CPS on their backs. Plus, dad would kill him if it happened again. Probably. If he was lucky. Didn’t matter, he wasn’t game to do it again.

"Can't you call Dad, Dean?"

Sam's voice was an annoying whine, and Dean could put up with a lot… but not that. _Not that_. You didn’t call Dad unless it was an emergency, and maybe not even then. Sammy understood that! When did his brother become so selfish and stup–

Dean forced himself to take deep, calming breaths. It wasn't Sammy's fault he was a brat. He didn't understand what Dad did, and Dean knew that he, that they both, wanted Sam to stay as innocent as he could. There were bad things out there, and Sammy needed to be protected.

"We can't do that, Sammy. It's not an emergency, and you know the rules-"

"It's not fair!!!" Sam's face had collapsed on itself, eyes scrunched shut and lips turned way down. He even stamped his foot. "It's not fair! I never get to do anything I want! Dad always does this and it's not _fair_!"

Was Dean ever that young? Although he had vague memories of mom, he didn't remember a time before Dad put his hand on Dean's shoulder, and told him seriously that Sammy was just a little kid. And Dean had to look after his brother. Dad told him that looking after Sammy was his most important task, and Dean took his responsibilities seriously.

" _Deeeeeeeeeean_." The high pitched moan interrupted his thoughts, and Dean snapped.

"Shut up, Sam! We can’t call Dad while he’s busy, not if it’s not important. And-” Dean raised his voice over his brothers’ argument. “Wanting to go to a farm isn’t important enough! And anyway, we don’t have any money, and even if we did, we’ll probably be on the road before the farm excursion." Woah. That wasn't cool. That really wasn't cool. His little brother blinked at him and Dean saw the shimmer of tears. Dean felt a hard ball of guilt pool in his belly, because this wasn’t Sam’s fault. He wasn't doing anything wrong, and Dean was taking it all out on him.

God, he was the worst big brother ever.

Ignoring Sam's homework, Dean walked across all the papers, towards his brother. He ignored Sam’s outraged gasp as he pulled his brother’s angry body into a one armed hug. Sam stiffened, obviously torn between continuing the fight and seeking comfort in his brother’s embrace.

It wasn't entirely surprising when he turned and flung himself into Dean's arms. Somehow, Dean managed to catch them both, falling back on the sofa while Sam sobbed into his chest.

"It's not fair! It's not fair! I hate living like this! I’ve been to more schools than I can even remember… and I hate not having friends! I hate that I can't do normal things like a normal kid! I hate not being normal!" Sammy drew in a sobbing breath before he continued. "I hate that we live in a scummy motel and I hate that dad isn't here! It's just not _fair_!"

Hugging his brother, Dean was relieved it wasn't just about the field trip. There wasn't a lot that he could do, but maybe... maybe if Dad turned up tonight, he'd be able to get the money and the signature and

~o~

Dad did come back that night.

~o~

Sammy didn't get to go.

 

 

   
 **Bitchface 15: _You don’t have to do what he says_**

Dean hated school. Hated it. What was the point in going if he was just going to drop out as soon as he was legally able?

“You’re not dropping out, Dean. I don’t know what’s going through your head right now, but you are _not_ going to do that. Do you hear me, Dean?”

Of course Dean heard. Dad had been shouting it at him for weeks. It had been confusing for everyone, because _Dean_ was the obedient son. Sure, Sammy went to school, but that was because he wanted to. If Dad ordered him and he didn’t want to? Heh. Dean chuckled to himself. This battle was nothing compared to what would happen when Dad and Sam really locked horns.

“You think this is funny, son? You think this is a laughing matter?”

Dean wiped the smile of his face. “No, sir.”

Dean really needed to keep his mouth shut. Negotiating Dad’s temper had been like avoiding a trip wire on a moonless night. Sam had never run so many laps in his life, and even Dean was earning them left, right, and centre. Sam, in his egocentric teenage way, took it as a chance to rail at Dad for his drill sergeant ways. It was more than that though, and Dean worried about his father. He still did his best to avoid inflaming the situation, but things weren’t good. Watching out of the side of his eye, he saw John run a tired hand through his hair. Dad was looking more ragged lately and-

“I can help more if I’m not at school! I’m not smart, Dad, and I’m already good in the field! I can help you, I can help you more, more than if I’m stuck in school. It’s legal to drop out when you’re 17. I can just be so much more use if I’m with you!”

-and Dean did not know when to keep his mouth shut.

Dad slammed to his feet, stalking towards him. Dean swore his life flashed before his eyes: Dad was furious.

“What you can do, Dean, is exactly what you’re told to do! If I can’t trust you here, how can I trust you in the field?

Dean’s stomach dropped. He’d never thought of it that way. But school was… He hated it. He was stupid at this learning stuff, he had no idea what the fucking curriculum was and-

“Are you even listening to me?”

Back straightening, Dean stared his father straight in eye. “Yes, sir. I’m to stay at school until you say otherwise.”

Dad gave him a suspicious look before dropping back. He grabbed an already packed duffle – the larger red one, which meant he was taking off.

“I’ve a hunt a couple of states over. I should be back in a week or so, but if it’s longer than two, call Pastor Jim.”

And that was it, thought Dean bitterly, as his father walked towards the door. An order, followed by another, followed by another. A flare of rebelliousness rose in his chest, but at that point his dad stopped. Turning, he eyeballed Dean.

“I shouldn’t have to say this again son, but _stay in school_. If I hear any word that you’ve been missing, there’s gonna be hell to pay.” Dean stayed silent, and Dad’s face got redder. “Are we clear, Dean?”

“Clear, sir,” Dean choked out.

Case clearly closed, Dad had no more to say. The slam of the door was loud in the silence.

“You don’t have to do what he says, Dean.”

Oh God. Sam. Dean had been so focused he’d forgotten Sam was there. He didn’t have the time or the compulsion to deal with any of that fallout. _Suck it up, Winchester_ , he snapped at himself. _This is part of your job_.

“Yeah, Sam. We do. You know what we do.“

Even now, months later, it was still one of Dean’s greatest sadness’s that Dad had handed that gun to Sam. He was too young. He was only 13, but for some reason Dad thought Sam had to…

 _Don’t second guess,_ he harshly reminded himself. Dad had reasons for everything, and even though he was sure Sam finding the journal had been accidental, it changed everything.

“You know what we do,” he continued, stronger. “And you know it’s important. My job is not to make Dad worry, to be what he-“

“Your job shouldn’t be that, Dean!” Sam’s voice was impassioned. “You’re a _kid_! We both are! You’re still at school! You should be… I don’t know! Dreaming dreams of what you’re going to do when you grow up, not deciding to drop out of school and do what Dad does. You don’t have to! You have options. You are so smart and-“

Sam’s breath finally ran out, and he panted as he glared at Dean. When he had his breath under control, he continued in a more moderate tone.

“I don’t understand why you don’t-“

“I know you don’t, Sammy.” Dean stopped that short. They’d had this conversation before, and there was no point having it again. “I don’t want to fight,” he continued, softer. “But what Dad does is important, and even if he doesn’t tell us, he always has reasons for what he does.”

Sam’s face screwed up. That cool down lasted approximately six seconds. Sighing, Dean closed his eyes, and when he opened them, yep, there was the expression he was seeing more and more of.

“You don’t have to do what he says, Dean!”

Sam’s support was a little flattering. And a lot welcome. Though he would never admit it out loud, sometimes he didn’t feel like Dad really saw him. Not… Ah fuck. This was why he hated thinking about _feelings_. There was no point. Dean just had to do what Dad said and things would be better all round.

“Yes, I do, Sammy.”

“ _Don’t call me Sammy_!”

“If it wasn’t for Dad, people-“

“I don’t care about some random _people_ , Dean! I care about you. I care about your future, my future, I care…”

Dean forced himself to stay still as Sam dashed angry tears from his eyes.

“We deserve so much better than this, Dean. You don’t have to just be daddy’s little soldier. You could be so much more and I wish you saw that.”

Dean didn’t try to stop Sam as he stormed out. There was no point. And he was wrong: Dean was more than daddy’s little soldier. He was Sam’s protector, and that was even more important. Although probably not what Sam meant, he reflected wryly.


	3. Chapter 3

**Bitchface 20: _Are you kidding me, Dean?_**

What the hell was taking Sam so long? Glancing at his watch, Dean sighed before slumping back in his seat. Sammy wasn’t actually late, Dean was just early. And it wasn’t like he could complain – really, he didn’t want to. He was so fucking proud of his brother! Somehow, even with all the moving around, Sam’s managed to get himself in the AP classes.

 _Much smarter than his waste of space big brother, that’s for sure_ , Dean reflected wryly.

Another glance at his watch told him two seconds had passed. It was going to be an awfully long twenty minutes if he checked his watch that often. And twenty minutes...it wasn’t really long enough to go anywhere and come back…

Maybe…maybe he’d have a look around. Despite the massive fight with Dad all those years ago, Dean had managed to drop out. Hadn’t meant more hunting, but he could definitely look after Sammy better. More hours not at school meant more time to, well, do anything that needed doing.

He’d sneakily got his GED the year before. Sometimes he wondered why he’d bothered – both doing it, and hiding it. It wasn’t as if there was any point. Hunting… well, it was all he could do. He hadn’t grown up normal, he’d never be normal. But maybe there was a tiny part of him that mourned what could have been. He pushed it down as much as he could, but since he was at a proper senior high school with time to burn…

Decision made, Dean hopped out of the car, grabbing his leather jacket on the way. Sure he was too old for these high school kids, but it never hurt to look your best anyway. With that thought in mind, he checked his hair in the rear view mirror: it was spikily sexy. Giving himself a grin and a thumbs up he turned, only to see a rather attractive student… teacher? She looked a little older than him, which meant she couldn’t be a student.

“Uh…” Internally he winced. Way to be fucking smooth.

But she just smiled at him, a twist to her painted lips as she looked him up and down, a spark of interest that he recognised far too well in her eyes. Automatically his chest puffed up.

“Surely you can’t be one of my students. You look much too… mature… for that.”

Crossing her arms under her not inconsiderable tits (okay, in the safety of Dean’s mind he could admit they were fucking huge, and he’d love to shove his face in them), Dean tore his eyes away only to find her staring straight at Dean’s crotch, licking her bright red lips. It was a practised move.

Dean was no blushing virgin, but the way her eyes caressed his package made him want to cross his legs and hide. But… maybe he was just out of practise. How long had it been since an older woman had run her claws down his back? 

Too long, Dean decided. With a flirty grin on his face, he leaned back, letting his legs splay, allowing the bowlegs that he so hated to become even more pronounced. The teacher though? She liked it, her eyes just ate him up. And though he smiled, Dean felt sick to the stomach. Which kinda worried him. Since when did he not like an appreciative lady? Was he getting sick? Actually physically sick? Bad fucking time that was, because under the right circumstances he’d be back at her place, or in her office, having a grand old time but-

Oh. Ohhhhh. Dean felt his belly tighten the way it did when he _knew_ he was hunting a monster. He’d grown up since he left school. He understood more about monsters – human and otherwise. He just prayed this one hadn’t got its claws into Sam.

“A little mature for school. Or for you?”

Arching an eyebrow with a casualness he didn’t feel, Dean awaited her reply. He never got an answer, as at that moment Sammy came running up.

“Dean! You’re early!”

Never had Dean been happier to hear his brother’s complaining tones. When he turned, his smile must have been a little wider than strictly necessary – Sammy sure gave him the scrunchy eyed glare – but no jury would ever convict him. He was just so fucking grateful that Sam not only looked like the same nerdy little brother, but he sounded like his normal cranky ass self.

But then Sam’s glare morphed into something completely different when he looked at the teacher.

“Oh. I didn’t see you there, Ms. Miller.”

Dean blinked. That wasn’t how Sammy normally spoke to teachers. She didn’t seem to take offense though, just smiling, all shiny white teeth.

“Oh. Another Winchester.” Her laugh sounded fake and forced. “Why am I not surprised?”

Her gaze showed none of that discomfort. In fact, it was almost reptilian in the way it assessed them. Dean half stepped in front of his brother, and was ready to hustle him out of there when she spoke again.

“You’ve never mentioned a brother, Samuel. Now why is that, I wonder? I would have made an effort to meet him sooner. ”

Dean felt his jaw drop, because despite everything, he was shocked. There was something intimate and creepy about that. Fuck. He hoped that she hadn’t gone her claws into Sam… 

A quick glance showed Sammy wasn’t… well, he wasn’t lovestruck or anything like that. In fact, Sam’s face tightened into something Dean didn’t quite recognise, before it relaxed and he turned big eyes on Dean. Puppy dog eyes. At least that was something Dean was very familiar with.

“I forgot to pack extra lunch for after school, Dean, and I’m _starving_. Can we go now?”

Sammy’s stomach growled with a strength that spoke of his hunger and guilt stabbed through him: if Sammy was going hungry, Dean wasn’t doing his goddamn job. Shaking off his guilt, he put on his asshole big brother face, before poking Sammy in the stomach.

“What are you, a walking, talking garbage disposal? “ Laughing, he jumped out the way of Sam’s loose punch, before swinging an arm around his brother’s shoulder. “Sure thing, short stuff. Jump in, and we’ll-“

“l look forward to seeing you tomorrow, Sam.”

Both Winchester’s whipped their heads around, Ms. Miller’s presence all but forgotten in their casual repartee. Sam nodded tightly before moving to the passenger side. Ms. Miller turned her attention to Dean.

“Lovely brother you’ve got there. So well behaved.” Another one of those hungry smiles. “Nice meeting you. Dean, wasn’t it?”

Staring at her retreating back, Dean was interrupted by Sam’s annoyed cough.

“Dean? I’m hungry!”

Normally he would tease his brother over his whining, but Dean really wanted to leave too. He didn’t trust that teacher. At all. And there wasn’t a lot he could do. He had no proof of anything… sure, he could probably go do his own mini hunt, but with Dad away, Dean really didn’t want to leave Sammy. Certainly not when something might be wrong. He’d learnt that lesson before.

They’d barely pulled away, before Sam had turned in his seat and was glaring at Dean.

“I can’t believe you came to school and tried to pick up a _teacher_!”

Biting back his immediate defensive response, Dean listened to Sam’s tone. He just sounded normal pissed off. It was even his _I can’t believe you flirt with anything that moves_ little brother, stock standard response. The tension in Dean’s belly uncoiled, and the smirk he threw his brother was a real one.

“I didn’t have to try, bitch. She was all over me like a cat lickin’ up the cream.”

Sam’s face was a picture of revulsion. “Whatever, jerk.”

Dean let his eyes flicker to his brother, who was now staring moodily out the window, and despite the fact that he was almost, definitely sure that the teacher hadn’t done anything, Dean couldn’t stop himself asking, “So, that teacher? Ms. Miller, wasn’t it? She’s… she’s not like your favourite teacher is she?”

Sam’s expression was nothing but confused. The last knot in his stomach finally released.

“Favourite? Not even close. I don’t like her very much. She’s not a very good teacher. She’s supposed to know history, but the amount of stuff she gets wrong-“

As Sam rattled off all the things Ms. Miller got wrong, Dean took them home on automatic - although he did remember to swing through a drive through and get Sam burgers. Of course the bitch was ungrateful.

“You do realise these don’t have any nutritional value?”

Dean stole a pickle off the top, popping in his mouth in the face of Sam’s outrage. “ _Now_ it has no nutritional value. But fear not, little brother. I’ll make you spaghetti-o’s for dinner.”

The ride home was punctuated with Sam’s sulking and Dean’s chuckle.

~o~

After all the dishes had been cleared away, Dean got the weapons out.

“You cleaned them at the weekend.” Sam was whining, but there was no heat in it.

“Gotta make sure everything’s tip top. Can’t have a gun blocking up when there’s a monster to gank.”

Dean’s mind drifted back to the teacher, to Ms. Miller. Teachers just weren’t supposed to do that. They had a fucking responsibility and Dean really didn’t like the way that she’d looked at Sam. Sam was still a goddamn child! Maybe he should make sure-

“Sure that teacher hasn’t said anything to you?”

Stopping mid stride, Sam turned on his brother, bitchface 29 ( _Are you kidding me, Dean?_ ) firmly in place.

“Me? What about you, Dean? Ever since you picked me up, it’s Ms. Miller this, Ms. Miller that. Are _you_ interested in her?”

Hands up, Dean shook his head. “No, Sam. No. I just…”

Sam’s hands were now firmly placed on his hips, and his face had morphed into bitchface 13 ( _you’re a fucking idiot, Dean_ ).

“You’ve been weird ever since you saw her. And you were making flirty eyes at her.”

“Sam, I totally wasn’t!”

Lip curling in quite an impressive sneer, Sam crossed his arms over his chest. “Yeah?”

Dean sneered right back. “Yeah.”

With a final glower, Sam stormed out of the room. Dean’s mind stayed on the teacher. Maybe he could check her out. If he timed it right, he wouldn’t have to leave Sammy alone, and if he found _anything_ that would prove he was right-

His pre-murderous thoughts were interrupted by the buzz of his cell.

“Yeah?”

“Is that any way to speak to your father?”

Shit! Dean sat upright and winced. This was why he always checked who was ringing. You never knew who it could be.

“Sorry, sir. Nothing to report here.”

Not that he’d asked the question, and he just ignored Dean’s answer anyway.

“I’m coming back tonight. Got things wrapped early. Pack up and be ready to go when I get there.”

“But, Dad, don’t you want to-“

“I believe I gave you an order, son. It should be less than four hours.”

Mouth twisting, Dean glared at the phone. Of course he’d hung up.

“It wouldn’t kill him to learn some manners.”

Dean tried to stop his eyes rolling, but failed. Of _course_ Sam had overheard that conversation. For a kid who tripped over his own feet he could walk damn quietly sometimes.

“He’s on his way, Sam, and we got the message. Sometimes the way it’s said… well, it doesn’t matter, just that we understand it.”

Judging by Sam’s mutinous expression, he disagreed, but there was nothing new in that. Ignoring his brother, Dean instead surveyed the weapons on the table. Deciding he had enough time to finish before Dad got back, he set to cleaning.

It would go quicker if Sam wasn’t there glowering at him. Sighing, Dean dropped his hands to his lap and eyeballed his brother.

“Go pack, Sammy. I’ll finish up here, and help you if you’re not ready.” 

Sam flounced off, and Dean settled down to clean. It was easy work – he’d done it thousands of times and could do it in his sleep. So of course his brain drifted onto that teacher again. There was definitely something wrong about her, although the more he thought about it, the more he was convinced it wasn’t his sort of wrong. By the time each gun was checked and ready, Dean still hadn’t decided on a plan for dealing with the teacher. Sammy was safe, that was pretty much his only concern, but not everyone had a brother to look after them…

He was just packing up the weapons when Sammy slunk back into the room. Putting the oil cloth down, Dean stared seriously at his brother.

“You know Sammy,” Dean said, “Monsters I get. In a weird sort of fucked up way, I get them. But people? People I don’t get all.”

Sam didn’t even bother replying, leaving Dean to his uncomfortable thoughts of Ms. Miller.

~o~

It was late when John returned. Dean was still awake, sitting upright as Sam rested against him, peacefully snoring. He was right back to sharp eyed and angry when John shook him awake and Dean couldn’t help sending his dad a reproachful look. He ignored it though, just roughly telling them to get in the car. Even though a little part of Dean longed for stability, he couldn’t deny he was relieved to be leaving. It was just another way he could be sure Sam was safe.

~o~

They were miles away when the school board investigated Ms. Miller after an anonymous tip off. Maybe some other little brothers were safer now too.


	4. Chapter 4

**Bitchface 45: _Don’t you fucking dare_**

The shouting could be heard from the parking lot. Hurrying towards their motel apartment, Dean wasn’t even half way up the stairs when the noises coalesced into words.

“- stop me! I want more than this, Dad! And I don’t care what you say, I’m gonna have more.”

“More? For Christ’s sake, Sam, listen to yourself! What’s more important than what we do? We’re saving lives, and-“

When he finally reached the door, Dean’s paused, torn with indecision. Was there any point even going in? Would it help anything?

While the fighting was nothing new, there had been a new intensity since Sam got the letter. Not that Sam had told Dad, heck! He hadn’t even told _Dean_ , but Dean’d have to be a first class idiot to not know that something was happening with his brother.

And if there was something wrong with Sam, nothing would stop him from finding the problem. 

In the end, it wasn’t really a problem. At least, not a problem that Sam needed help with. Sam had his way out and he wasn’t going to let anything, or anyone, stop him. Hence the secrecy. And although it hurt that Sam didn’t trust him, Dean understood. This was Sam’s big chance, and he was right: he _did_ deserve so much more than this. He was a smart, amazing guy who could do anything with his life. 

Also stubborn. So. Fucking. Stubborn. Nothing would change his mind once it was made up, so was it worth putting himself in the line of fire? Biting his lip, Dean’s hand clenched around the door knob as their argument washed over him. Should he?

“I don’t want this! I… I _never_ wanted this! It’s no way to grow up, Dad. It’s great that you’ve kept yourself going on whisky and revenge, but I-“

“Do you know what I gave up for this family, Sam? Do you know why I do this? It’s to make it safer for you boys-“

“Safer? _Safer_? How exactly does _this_ -“ and Dean could image Sam’s scathing expression, his lip curling up in a sneer “-make us safer? I was eight years old when I got my first weapon and-“

“If you hadn’t gone snooping around-“

“That’s your excuse? How old was Dean when he-“

“ _Don’t_ you bring your brother into this! I did the best that I could, Sam, and if you don’t like it? Then fine. Leave. If you don’t like it you just, leave?”

Shit! This was going somewhere not good. Both his brother and his father were stubborn sons of bitches, and if Dean didn’t get in there soon-

“You know what? I will.”

“But if you walk out that door, don’t you bother coming bac-”

Dean crashed through the door. 

“Dad! Sam! What are you-“

“Shut up, Dean!”

Dean fell back, the words like bludgeons. That was possibly the only thing the two had ever agreed on. A tense silence filled the space, one which Dean didn’t know how to break.

John took a deep breath and eyeballed his youngest. “I’m going for a drink. If you’re not here when I get back, you stay gone, Sam.”

The calm was worse, Dean decided. John slowly, and methodically gathered his stuff and walked out the door. He didn’t even look back.

Only when the last echoes of the door slam had faded did Sam move.

It was painful. In contrast to Dad’s movements, Sam was rushed and jerky. And prepared. Even through his shock, Dean could see that Sam’s bags were almost packed. If Dean hadn’t come back, would he really have left without saying goodbye? Sam slammed out of the room even as Dean opened his mouth. Even if he’d had words, his tight throat and hot stinging eyes would have kept them in. Eventually he closed his mouth. What was there to say? It was Sam’s life, Sam’s choice. And Dean was going to be there for his brother.

Blinking away the tears, he cleared his throat, just as Sam walked back in. Sam started at the sound, then sent him bitchface 45 _Don’t you fucking dare_ , before he started on at Dean. 

“I don’t wanna fucking hear it, Dean. You might be some mindless drone, doing what Dad wants, but I’m not like that. I’m not like you. I’m my own person. So I whatever excuses you’ve got for Dad, whatever reasons to stay, I don’t want to hear it! There’s _nothing_ you can say that’ll make me change my mind, so don’t even bother.”

Dean’s jaw may have dropped, because ouch. That was quite the tirade. Sam’s opinion… well, even though it hurt, it wasn’t like it was news. Although the depth of his brother’s bitterness surprised him. How could Sam not know Dean was on his side. Dean took a few moments, just to be sure he wouldn’t show how broken his heart was, letting his face lose expression before he focused on Sam.

“Nah, Sammy-“

“It’s _Sam_.”

Jesus Christ! The kid wouldn’t let a fucking thing go, would he? Gritting his teeth, Dean continued.

“As I was saying, _Sammy_ , I know your mind’s made up. I know you gotta do what you gotta do.” Sam’s disbelieving expression was killing him, so pulling the impala keys from his pocket, Dean dredged up his cocky smile. “Bet you’ll miss the bus if I don’t give you a hand-“

“I don’t need your help, Dean.”

Wow. How many daggers to the heart was that now? Dean shrugged.

“Sure you don’t, but man it would suck if you missed your bus-“

Shouldering past him, Dean wondered tiredly if he’d ever been that young and anxious to prove himself. He followed more slowly, the _clang_ of Sam’s heavy footsteps down the rickety stairs enough for Dean to follow his movements. As he reached the balcony, Dean’s heart lifted a little, when Sam stopped by the Impala.

But when he pulled in at the bus station, Sam didn’t even wait until he turned the engine off before he was out the door and joining the queue. Face tight, Sam stared straight ahead until the bus pulled up. There was a flurry of people (why the fuck were so many people catching a fucking bus to California? What was wrong with people?), but Dean saw Sam manage a smile for the bus driver before he disappeared onto the bus.

Ten minutes later and the bus, and Sam, were gone.

 

~o~

When Dad got back the next day he didn’t say anything. Neither did Dean. Not even when Dad left him too.


	5. Chapter 3: It’s hard to get your book learnin’ when you don’t attend school.

**Bitchface 77: _I’m not dealing with this_**

College was everything he’d thought it would be. Big. Overwhelming. Amazing. And _normal_. 

It took a while… weeks? Months? Before he stopped jumping at shadows and looking over his shoulder. It helped that it was so busy. It was a huge learning curve: Sam had to learn how to be a normal college student. It gave him something to focus on, even as he ignored Dean’s calls. 

At first it had just been too hard. He _missed_ his brother. But this was his life now. Hunting had no part of it, and Dean was hunting. Maybe once he got settled, he’d call his brother. But until he was ready, Dean would just have to wait.

Dean had tried to call a number of times. Of course Sam recognised the number, as if he could ever forget. But each and every time he’d forced himself to turn it off. Until something changed. Seeing Dean’s number used to upset him. Now it just made him mad. What the hell was he doing? Trying to wreck the one good thing Sam had? The one thing he’d done for himself. 

Once he stopped missing Dean, he threw himself into study and, to his surprise, even made friends. Soon enough Dean got the message and stopped calling, and Sam made himself forget he had a brother. 

It was easy enough to do when you worked as hard as he did. 

~o~

“C’mon, Sam! You never come out.”

Sam, who had been leaning over his law text looked up. His housemate Brady was whining at him. And he already had a beer in his hand. Seriously it was only-

“Fuck! It’s six o’clock? When did it get to be six?”

Taking a long, slow, and frankly gratuitous draw from his beer, Brady waited a moment before responding. “You, Sam, work too hard.”

“Brady-”

“And I get it. Once I figured out you were a straight laced good two-shoes, straight A, annoying teachers’ pet-””

“Hey!” But he couldn’t help laughing. 

Brady grinned back. “The point is, once I figure that out I fucking respected your boring ways and stopped inviting you anyway.”

“But today…” Brady took a dramatic pause before beating out a drum roll on Sam’s notes. Beer spilled over, and Sam moved his work out of Brady’s way. It would be easy to be annoyed, but Brady was a charming motherfucker. “But today you need a break. You deserve a break, Sammy.”

The name sent a shiver down his spine, and he opened his mouth, ready to argue, but Brady steamrollered on. 

“You can’t finish your freshman year without going to a single fucking party! It’s not right! It’s wrong! It’s un-American it is!”

Sam winced. It was true. He was the most boring college student in existence. The temptation was certainly there...

“And it’s your birthday, and you know what that means? It means we have to go out and get you drunk off your pretty little ass!” 

Even before the birthday mention, Brady had him won over. Sam _did_ work hard. He was on top of his work and he deserved a break. That it was his birthday? Icing on the party cake. Standing abruptly, he stretched, letting his spine pop and crack into place. Once he was properly adjusted, he grabbed his wallet and nodded decisively.

“Let’s do this.”

~o~

Sitting at the table, surrounded by empties, Sam couldn’t help but smile. How lucky was he? How fucking lucky? After the shit pile that had been his life, how did he get so lucky? Surrounded by friends, and finally living the life. He was so lucky. Even though his head was buzzing.

“Sam? Sam?”

Sam looked up to see Jess talking to him. She was new to the group. And she was pretty. _And_ she was talking to him and smiling. He smiled big in return, and reached towards her, but she shook her head, and pointed at the table?

“That’s your phone, right?”

Blinking, Sam looked down. The buzzing thing was his phone. It has stopped buzzing. Not his head. Now it wasn’t even his phone. That had stopped buzzing too. Huh. Maybe he was less drunk than he thought. That probably meant he needed another one. After all, it was his birthday.

“I thought the buzzing was in my head,” he told her seriously. “It’s my birthday. I need another drink.” 

Laughing, she got up from her seat. “How can I resist that? I’ll be back in a moment, birthday boy.”

Cocking his head, he watched her walk away. She was pretty. And her hips were pretty. Especially when they swung like that. Jess had a pretty walk.

His musings were interrupted by his head buzzing again. No. His phone. It was definitely his phone. Picking it up, his smile quickly departed, his expression morphing into one of extreme displeasure. Why was Dean even calling? Fuck’s sake, Sam really didn’t want to have to deal with-

“Wow! I’ve been gone less than five minutes! What got your panties in a twist?”

Jerking up, Jess was in front of him again. And she had a drink. That was much better than stupid Dean. It only took a few attempts to turn his phone off, then stick it in his pocket. Jess raised a questioning eyebrow, but he ignored it.

“You brought me a drink, you shouldn’t have!”

The questioning look slid off Jess’ face as she slid into flirtatious banter.

It was fun. It was nice. It was the best birthday ever.


	6. Chapter 6

**Bitchface 55: _I’m not backing down_**

It had been so easy to break in. Disturbingly easy. Even if Sam was out of the life, Dean taught him better than this. He was just lucky it was _Dean_ and not some burglar, or monster padding round his room. Lips pulling down, Dean looked around. He was half tempted to turn on a light, partly to scare the heck out of his brother and partly so he could get a good look at how Sam was living now. Scowling, Dean looked towards the stairs. Sammy should be here by now.

Flipping a curtain to the side, Dean let the streetlight stream in, even as his eyes took in every detail. It was a student room, like any other. From the mismatched and sagging furniture through to the piles of textbooks and papers covered with Sam's scrawl (on the table but not spread across the floor), to the unwashed dishes that towered beside the sink, and the photos proudly displayed in their frames that lined every surface. Silently Dean approached a dresser to get a closer look. Dean hadn’t met this Sam. His face light and carefree. Although his hair was ridiculous. 

“Get a haircut, hippy,” he muttered, but couldn’t keep the smile off his face. 

More often than not a blonde woman was by his side, or in his arms. They both looked happy. 

Jess, Dean reminded himself. Her name was Jess. Only child, pre-med student, known Sam since first year. Not that Sam had told him any of this. After refusing to answer his phone calls, and then changing his number… well, Dean had given up on ringing his little brother, but he hadn't given up on him.

No, even with the distance between them, Dean's top priority was to take care of Sammy. Nothing was ever going to change that. So as often as he could, he went on hunts via California. Watching with pride as Sam settled in effortlessly, made friends, and topped his classes. Which of course he would, fucking smart nerd that he was.

Dean also checked out all Sam's housemates, more cursory than he wanted, although once it looked like he was hooking up seriously with this chick, with Jess, he'd made sure she was alright. And she was. Alright. And she made Sam happy and that was what mattered most.

Although Dean was about to fuck that all up.

Huffing a silent, bitter laugh, Dean closed his eyes. Could he do this? Could he really fuck up Sam’s life like this? If he got Sam now, there went his white picket fence and his apple pie life. If Dean walked away now, Sam would be none the wiser.

But he couldn't do it. He couldn’t walk away. Because he couldn't do this alone.

Taking a deep breath, Dean strengthened his resolve and knocked one of the photo frames over.

Silence was followed by muffled footsteps, and nodding approvingly, Dean moved towards the bottom of the stairs, then stopped. He could just wait for Sam to see him… or he could teach his brother a little lesson.

A slow smile spread across Dean's face. Sure, he was only here because there was no other choice, but he may as well have some fun with it. That is, he quickly corrected himself, make it a teaching moment.

Footsteps, louder now, reached the top of stairs. And then the voices.

"Stay back, Jess. It's probably nothing, but I'm still gonna check it out."

A woman's voice interrupted, but so low he couldn't hear it. Not to worry. Sam's voice could have woken the dead. What the fuck was he thinking? Shouting would scare the intruders away. Dean shook his head, and rolled his shoulders. Sam needed this lesson more than he realised. 

"What? No! I don't think that! It's jus-just wait here okay?"

The woman spoke again. And this time Dean could hear her side of the argument. She didn't want to let Sam go down alone. Dean nodded approvingly. Of course Sam's girl would be feisty. She'd push for what she wanted, and she'd push for Sammy too. Dean's eyes brushed the photographs again. They had a great life, and it was together. And here was Dean, ready and willing to ruin it all.

Heavy tread on the stairs reminded him he was here for a job, not for fun. That meant meeting (and vetting) Sam's girlfriend was not on the list. No, if everything went according to plan, Dean wouldn't even meet her.

The plan: get Sam, get Dad, and get out. That was it. Both simple and hard.

A large shadow rounded the corner, and although Sam moved to switch on the light, Dean was there and ready to take Sam down. Knocking his feet out from under him, Dean was kind enough to break Sam's fall (a little). Pinning Sam's hand to the floor, Dean rested a knee firmly in his side, effectively trapping him. It wasn't too long though, before a cursing and flailing Sam recognised him. And when he did he went silent and still.

"Dean?"

Dean knew there was enough ambient light to let Sam see the smirk that spread over his face, before he clicked his tongue in disapproval. 

"I thought I trained you better than that. You've let yourself get soft, but I dunno, Sam. Is that really sensible? You never know what will go bump in the night."

"Dean!"

Sam's voice, which had been a soft gasp, was now louder, and Dean was sure he wasn't imagining the warmth and excitement that now coloured his name. It softened him. Enough that the little bitch somehow managed to flip him over, and in a quick and painful manoeuvre, Dean ended up on _his_ back, little brother towering over him.

Sam hadn't bothered to break _his_ fall at all, Dean noted wryly.

"Not so out of practise, huh?" It was Sam's turn to smirk.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean cursed at his brother, but his heart wasn't in it. He was a little bit proud.

Sam looked pleased with himself. His expression lightened, and a smile threatened to break through, when the kitchen light was switched on, and all hints of Sam's lightness fled.

Blinking at the sudden intrusion, both brother's flicked their eyes to the door, and Dean was greeted with a tall blonde in a very short nightshirt. Bottom lip sticking out, Dean nodded his approval. Looked like he got to meet the girlfriend after all.

Dean smiled easily at her, but Sam was not pleased. 

Now that they'd been interrupted, Sam's face fell back into the hard lines Dean expected. Dusting himself off, Sam found his feet, and hurried back to stand with his girl. Didn't bother to offer Dean a hand up, but it wasn't like he was expecting it.

"Sam?"

Sam looked down at Jess, and his face dropped into soft lines. He was in love, Dean realised with a pang.

“Sam what’s going on?”

“This is-“

Dean strolled over, lazy smile on his face. “I’m Dean. Sam’s older, and more attractive brother. Not sure if he’s mentioned me…?”

Jess sent an inscrutable look in Sam’s direction, and heaving an annoyed sigh, he let his head tip back.

“Jess, this is my brother Dean. Dean, this is my girlfriend Jess, Jessica Moore.”

“Nice to meet you Jess, and boy I have to say,” Dean let his eyes travel over Jessica’s long frame, “you are _way_ out of my brother’s league.”

Shuffling uncomfortably, she pulled at the hem of her nightshirt. This time the look she sent Sam was very readable.

“Dean-“

Ignoring the warning tone, Dean talked over him. “But lovely as it is to meet you, sweetheart, Sam and I need to have a little talk. So now that you know he’s okay, you can go off to bed.”

Dean could see Sam about to agree, before the stick that was lodged well and truly up his ass made itself known. Wrapping one giant arm around Jess, he pulled her close, before hitting Dean with bitchface 23( _I’m not backing down on this_ ), and wow Dean wasn’t sure if he was glad to see the familiar look or not.

“Whatever you have to say, you can say in front of Jess.”

Sam was all righteous fury, and Jess was obviously uncomfortable.

“Sam, it’s okay, I can go-“

“No. No it’s not okay. This is our house, and whatever Dean has to say, he can say it front of you.”

Sure that Jess’s unhappy expression mirrored his own, Dean ran an annoyed hand over his face. This was ridiculous, but if that’s the way Sam wanted to play it, fine.

“Dad hasn’t been home in a few days.”

If anything Sam’s bitchface intensified.

“So? Dad takes off all the time, and it’s not like-“

“Dad’s on a hunting trip, and he hasn’t been home in a few days.”

It was painful to watch Sam’s expression crack. He quickly regrouped, but Dean saw it. Sam cared. With a pang in his heart, he knew he had his in.

“If you’ll excuse us, Jess, I need to have a private word with my brother.”

~o~

“What the fuck is going on, Dean?”

“I told you, Dad’s missing and I need-“

“Why now? Why now? What makes this so important that-“

That was a stupid question. Dean would never have interrupted Sam’s perfect life if he hadn’t needed him! “I need you to come with me. Please. I need, Sam. Will you help me?”

Typically, Sam ignored him. Instead of replying (and saying _yes_ for fuck’s sake), he leaned against the door and looked at Dean out of the corner of his eye. Although Dean wanted to shake some sense into his brother – it was _Dad_! Why didn’t Sam see how important this was! - Dean forced his body to stillness. This Sam was a new man. Dean really didn’t know how Sam had changed, and how he would react. Plus, pushing had never worked. Sam had always been a stubborn son of a bitch.

“There’s nothing unusual about Dad taking off, Dean. The man’s obsessed.”

“ _The man_ had a job-“

“I don’t even want to hear this, Dean! I don’t need you to come here and defend Dad and his obsessive need for revenge! There was a reason I left, if you remember-“

“Of course I remember, Sam! I was there when you walked out on me-“

“I _never_ walked out on you, Dean. It wasn’t about you - you know that! I left because I needed… I needed to live, Dean! Not be caught up in Dad’s…”

Sam trailed off, lost for words. It wasn’t like Dean didn’t understand – he did. And maybe if he’d been smart like Sammy, he could’ve tried making another life. But he’d known from early on that this was it for him. And there were worse things… what they did was important, and-

“So help me, Dean, if you tell me that what we do is _important_ …”

Dean’s mouth snapped shut. Whether Sam wanted to hear it or not, it was true. Eyes narrowed, Sam stared at him, and Dean did his best not to fidget. Finally, Sam looked away.

“I don’t know what you want from me, Dean.”

“Did I fucking stutter? I want you come with me to get Dad!” 

Dean ignored any feelings Sam’s words had brought up. That emotional crap was beside the point. Dean’s feelings - hurt or otherwise- had no place in this discussion. This was family. Their family. Sam, of course, didn’t see it that way. His chin was up and his face morphed into number 55, _I’m not backing down_. At least some things never changed. 

“I’m not a hunter any more. There’s nothing I can do to help. And anyway, it’s _Dad_ , and if he hasn’t been home for a few days-“

“Probably.”

Sam stopped mid rant. “Probably? What do you mean probably? If you were with Dad a couple of days ago then-“

“Dad went his separate way a couple of weeks after you left, Sam.”

Sam blinked. “What? But that was years-“

“Yeah.” Dean was shutting that conversational turn down quick smart. “I mean we occasionally meet up went a hunt needs more than one person, but on the whole, we hunt alone.” Dean rolled his shoulders, trying to ease some of the tension gathering there. It hadn’t occurred to him he’d be admitting what a loser he was: that not only had Sam dumped his sorry ass, Dad had too. “I saw him about six months ago, some sort of water spirit. A nasty one,” he added, unconsciously rubbing his arm. “Definitely a two person job. We ganked it, and Dad left. But he always checks in weekly. I mean it makes sense, and-“

Dean closed his mouth with a snap. He was babbling and that wasn’t going to help anything.

“The point is, he leaves me messages to let me know he’s alive.”

“And?”

Oh yeah… the unforgiving expression made its reappearance. Ignoring it, Dean fished his phone out of his pocket.

“And then there’s this.”

Dean knew the moment his brother heard the background whispers. His jaw dropped minutely and a flicker of worry sped across his eyes. Dean went in for the kill.

“Please… please, Sam. I can’t do this alone. I need you.”

~o~

With Sam’s agreement, a weight lifted off Dean. He had to do this, but he didn’t have to do it alone. He’d left the other part of the equation slip his mind though…

“Sam? I don’t… I don’t understand? What just happened?”

Dean had never had to explain himself to anyone. Not really. Dad never wanted to know, and Sammy… well… Sam had never wanted to know either. Dean shut that thought down as well. Things he hadn’t thought about in a long time were rearing their ugly head. Instead of thinking about that, Dean unobtrusively leaned against the wall, letting the scene play out.

Jess stood in the middle of the room, arms wrapped tight around her middle. She was wearing another layer, a longer one, and Dean felt a little bad that he’d made her uncomfortable. But he had a job to do, and nowhere on the rescue Dad list was _make nice with the brother’s girlfriend_.

So now that Dean had messed things up, Sam had to fix it.

Dean nodded in unexpected approval as Sam was packed to go in less than six minutes. Not too shabby. Not that he expected to be on the road long, based on the size of the battered backpack he threw over his shoulder – the same one from all those years ago, Dean couldn’t help but notice. Only when he was ready to leave did Sam approach Jess, gently pulling her close and kissing the crown of her head.

“I’m sorry, it’s just important. I have to help Dean and-“

“More important than your future?”

“What? No, it’s just-“

“Just what? Because half an hour ago you were ready to send him packing, and now, now the brother who breaks in, who you never speak about, who I’ve never even heard of, suddenly says you have to go and you go?”

Dean winced. Ouch. She’d never even heard of him? That was rough. Sam though ignored the question and gave her the soulful puppy look, and Dean had to give her kudos. She stuck to her guns.

“You were all _no, Dean, say it front of Jess_ , and then you go outside and suddenly you’re leaving with him? What the hell is going on, Sam?”

“Jess-“

“Don’t _Jess_ me! We have plans. _You_ have plans.” Chest heaving Jess stared him straight in the eyes, before sighing and dropping her gaze. “At least tell me you’ll be back for the interview on Monday, Sam.”

“Interview?” Dean hadn’t heard about an interview. Not that it would change anything, but it was always nice to have the facts.

Jess, the feisty girlfriend, stuck her hands on her hips and glared at Dean.

“Yes. For law school. Seems like you don’t know much about your brother, Dean-“

“Woah, Jess!”

“No, no. She’s right, Sam. I don’t know much about what’s going on. Lucky we’ve got the weekend to catch up then, isn’t it.” And with that Dean had had enough. There was no way Jess was going to be happy, and Sam had already said yes. And despite whatever school shit Sam had planned, he _knew_ his brother, Sam would keep his word and was coming with him. “And we really should get a move on. I’ll be in the car.” Sam was nodding so Dean turned his attention back to Jess. “It was real nice to meet you, Jess.”

~o~

It went better than Dean thought. He managed to avoid most of the landmine topics. Although there’d been a moment there, faced with Dad’s research… But Dean was a master at changing the subject, and Sam was always ready to complain about Dad anyway. Despite the near misses, they’d done it. And he and Sam worked together liked they’d never been apart. Hell, even all their old tricks had worked.

It wasn’t enough to keep him though. Of course it wasn’t – Sam had a life, one that had no room for Dean. This thought kept him silent for the last few hours of the trip, and although Sam shot him a few questioning looks, he never broke the silence.

Not until Dean smoothly pulled into the curb beside Sam’s house.

Tightening his lips on the words that threatened to spill out, Dean wondered what to say, what he could say that wouldn’t destroy their delicate truce. It’s been nice? Catch up in the next couple of years? Think you’ll answer my phone calls this time? No. None of that was right. It was both too flippant and too honest.

“Well, this is me. It was good, Dean. Good to see you.”

“Good luck with your interview, Sammy. You’re a smart kid.”

And he was. He was a smart kid. Too smart to stay with someone like him. 

As Dean watched his brother enter his home, he wondered if he would see him again.


	7. Chapter 7

**Bitchface 32** : _Useless_

Dean was never more aware of his limitations than when he couldn’t help his brother.

He’s never been good with words, and Sam’s mourning was a silent thing. Silent punctuated with bursts of violent anger. He wanted to hunt it all, hide his pain in the blood of his enemies, to get revenge, closure on the thing that killed Jess. Sam killed again and again and again… and it was like traveling with Dad all over again. Dean knew it wasn’t sustainable, he just didn’t know how to talk to Sam about it. 

And as it turned out, he didn’t need to. 

They were on a hunt, one that Dean found, which ended up being pretty fucking ironic. It was a poltergeist, nothing they hadn’t dealt with before. This one though, had the (surprising) ability to throw knives with deadly accuracy. Dean had lagged far enough behind to see the sharp welcoming gift, and Sam ignored his warning cry, blundering in like a fucking rhino. 

It was pure, dumb, luck that Sam hadn’t been killed. It was even luckier that Dean could see how badly hurt Sam was under all that blood, otherwise he woulda punched him out then and there. As it was they were back in the motel room, blood washed off and medical kit spread out on the floor before Dean could really take his brother to task.

“What the fuck do you think you were doing, Sam? On hunts you take my lead. I give an order, you listen and obey.”

The words were harsh, but Dean’s hands were gentle as he cleaned the last of the knife wounds. _Eight_. Eight separate stab wounds. The poltergeist had been a fucking octopus. At least they all didn’t need stitching. This one had been bad though, and Dean carefully sewed jagged flesh to jagged flesh. Only after he packed everything away, had he cooled down enough to talk to Sam. Sitting back on his heels, he glared at his brother, but before he could get further than _and next time_ Sam shoved him back. Falling inelegantly on his ass, Dean’s glare morphed into wide-eyed surprise.

“What the fuck, Sam?”

“Take your lead? Obey _you_?” Sam laughed. It wasn’t a kind sound. “Who are you trying to kid here, Dean? You’re not fit to lead. The most you manage is to follow Dad’s orders.”

Dean blinked. Huh? “Wait up, Sam-”

“Have you ever _had_ an original idea, Dean?” Sam paused, and pretended to think, before throwing his arms wide in exaggerated confusion. “You know, I don’t think you have. You don’t even find the hunts, Dean. You’re just daddy’s little soldier. He winds you up, and off you go.”

Dean stared, slack jawed. Where was this coming from? Is this really what Sam thought? 

Sam laughed again, before twisting the knife deeper. “I’m no follower, Dean. Not of Dad, and certainly not of you. And you know what? I can’t do this anymore. I can’t be weighed down by you anymore. Useless, Dean. You’re useless. I have to find what killed Jess and you obviously aren’t up for the challenge.” 

Sam paused and Dean jumped in. Dean was a master at compartmentalizing and ignoring the things that didn’t matter. Or things that hurt too much to face.

“Sam, are you even listening to yourself? You spent years, fucking _years_ ,resenting Dad for chasing his revenge. You… you know it doesn't work that way. You’re grieving I-” _I get that_ was not the right thing to say, so Dean changed track. “You’re gonna get Jess’s killer. And I’ll help, I’ll always help, but this is not the right way to do it! You’re angry, you’re hurting and-”

Sam’s laugh cut him off. “It’s been fun, big brother, but all good things have to come to an end, right?”

Getting stiffly to his feet, Sam grabbed his bag. The one he hadn’t even bothered to unpack. The same one he’d used when he left for Stanford all those years ago. 

“Good luck, Dean. Hope it works out for you.”

~o~

Dean stayed seated on the floor long after Sam left. 

What… what just happened?

~o~

It was only when Dean was tied to a tree waiting for some scarecrow God that his brain came back online. 

“Family. They’re the worst you know.”

Emily stopped straining at the ropes to stare at Dean. 

“ _Really_???”

Wincing, Dean didn’t bother apologising. What could he say? _Sorry your aunt and uncle decided to sacrifice you to a pagan god_? At least Sammy had never done that. Never got the chance, though, Dean thought morosely. 

Lips pursing, he pulled at the ropes again. Damn assholes had a lot of practise at this. Looking around for something, anything that could help, his eyes passed over the empty cross. 

“Shit. Wasn’t that scarecrow there just a minute ag-”

“Hey, Dean.”

Dean didn’t scream when something landed on his shoulder. That was all Emily. Dean definitely didn’t scream, even if Sam’s eyebrows said otherwise. But what did they know? They were never below his bangs anyway. 

“Who… scarecrow… _Dean_?”

Oh right. “Emily, this is my brother Sam, Sam this is Emily.”

“Uh… hi, Emily.” Sam chewed his lip for a moment. “Dean, how come you’re tied to a tree with a-”

“Oh, come _on_ , Sam! Isn’t it obvious? We’re being sacrificed to a pagan god. Now can you untie us?”

Happily Sam didn’t argue. And even more happily they all survived. Couldn’t say the same for Emily’s aunt and uncle, but Dean also didn’t care. 

~o~

Driving down the highway, Dean kept the music low. Sam was beside him, in his proper seat. Part of him desperately wanted to know why Sam came back, the other part… didn’t want to know. If he was being honest, Dean was too afraid to ask. Just like the coward Sam thought he was. Then again, maybe it was better to know...

“We gonna drive all night?”

Looking out of the corner of his eye, Sam was relaxed. He’d probably make it through the night without running off. 

“I’m not gonna run off again, Dean.”

Dean’s knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. He changed his mind again: he really did not want to talk about this. 

“I know you don’t trust me right now, and I don’t blame you for that. What I did was wrong. As for what I said…” Sam trailed off. When he spoke again, Dean could hear the regret in his voice. “I’m sorry. I… shouldn’t have said it.”

Which wasn’t the same as didn’t mean it. Dean didn’t acknowledge Sam’s words with even a flicker of an eyelash. 

“And I was wrong.”

“What?” Dean didn’t mean to respond. Really. But had Sam every admitted he was wrong? Ever? 

When Dean didn’t say anything else, Sam continued. 

“I finally understand, Dad, you know.”

Oh god. That was not where Dean expected his brother to go. Why the fuck would he bring up Dad? Why did an apology to him, Dean Winchester, involve bringing up their father? Sam’s issues with Dad were a mile wide, and that was a minefield he had no intention stepping through. If the understanding smile Sam shot him was any indication, he was a fucking mind reader as well. _Sam’s got a third nipple_ , Dean thought really hard at his brother. Who shot him a mild bitchface. Huh. That was unexpected. And possibly important. It was a question that would wait for late, however, as Sam spoke on, interrupting his thoughts.

“I… I judged him so hard, Dean. For chasing after the ghost of Mom, for never stopping and considering anyone else. Considering us,” he softly amended. “His two kids. I was a baby, and you weren’t more than that. I’m not saying I agree with what he did. I don’t. I never will. That’s not how you raise children. But… But after what happened to Jess? I think I understand now. A little better at least.”

They sat in still silence, until Dean moved one hand to Sam’s shoulder, squeezing his reassurance.

Blinking rapidly before turning shiny eyes on Dean, Sam manages a small smile.

“You were right.”

Dean’s hand clenched with the effort of not jumping on that. Fuck yeah he was right! It’s just not often Sammy admits it. His brother appears to know what he’s thinking, as his smile becomes more honest.

“I still want to get Jess’s killer. That hasn’t changed. But maybe… maybe there’s a different road to getting there. A road we take together.”

Dean didn’t say anything, but the silence wasn’t oppressive. It just let the words reverberate through the car, and the more he thought about it, the stranger he felt. It took a while before Dean could put a name to the feeling: happiness.

Dean smiled as he drove down the road, his brother at his side. _Together_.


	8. Chapter 8

**Bitchface 53: _What the hell are you up to?_**  
It wasn’t like Dean planned it. He just had that sort of memory when it came to Sam, the sort that never forgot anything. So when they blew into town on the back of a werewolf hunt… well… there were still three weeks until the next full moon, so they had to do something, right? 

And since there was nothing else to be done before the full moon (because far be it for _Dean_ to do anything to compromise a hunt, he was a fucking professional. An unpaid professional, but still a professional), he’d paid more attention to the local attractions than he would normally. And if one particular poster pinged a memory…

Three days later he wrangled Sam into the car so they could have some fun.

“Fun? You?”

Sam’s disbelief was palpable. Dean was offended.

“Yes, fun! I realise it’s something you wouldn’t know much about, given your idea of “fun” is running six miles while reading a book on ancient deities and-“

“And your type of fun always involves alcohol and women. It’s the middle of the day, Dean, what exactly are you planning. 

Dean just sniffed and took off down the road. 

Shaking his head, Sam crossed his arms and leaned back against the seat. It wasn’t like he could go anywhere. But as the signs become more frequent, Sam sat up straighter, and a frown took residence on his face. 

“Dean, what the hell are you doing?”

Dean answered him with a grin as pulled into the parking lot. Sam’s eyes widened. 

“Is this some kind of joke, Dean?”

Dean was already out of the car.

“C’mon, Sammy, it’ll be fun!” Dean recognised that his voice was kinda… weird. Cajoling, maybe, like he was talking to a pet, or a small child. And Sammy picked up on it, shooting him bitchface 53 ( _What the hell are you up to?_ ). But Dean couldn’t help it. He was excited. For Sammy. And maybe a little for himself, but definitely for Sam. 

Dean stopped mid stride, and Sam ran into the back of him.

“Dean, what the hell? You can’t just stop-“

Suddenly Dean was struck with uncertainty. What if Sam didn’t remember? Maybe it was just Dean holding onto the past, and this would just be another annoying thing that stupid Dean made Sam do.

“Dean?”

Sam’s worried voice cut through his monologue. Squaring his shoulders, Dean decided it was too late now. If Sam thought it was stupid, well, that was just how it was.

“Sorry, Sammy. Just couldn’t remember where the car was.”

Sam’s responded a little like a turtle: his head drew back and his mouth dropped open. Even as Dean winced he wondered if there would be turtles today? 

“We… literally just left the car, Dean.” Sam bit his lip. “Dean… you know you can tell me if something’s wrong, right?”

Dean wavered but a second. His embarrassment meant nothing when it came to fulfilling his brothers’ childhood dream. Even if were a forgotten one. Throwing an arm around Sam’s shoulder, Dean dragged him down to his level before pulling him towards the entrance. 

“We’re gonna have fun today, Sammy! So put your petting gloves on!”

“De-ean!” Sam already had that whiney little brother tone. Perfect!

~o~

Dean didn’t even tease Sam after he spent half the afternoon in the puppy room, excitable bundles of fur jumping all over him. And it wasn’t even because Sam had a photo of him lying on the ground covered in guinea pigs.


	9. Chapter 4: We’re on the Highway to Hell

**Bitchface 32: _You’re not going anywhere_**

It had all happened so fast. There was no time to plan - there was no plan. Just instinct. Dean was driven by a single urge: _save Sam_.

And then nothing else mattered, because Sam was dead.

It was easy to ignore the rest. The world could burn, for all Dean cared. Because Sam was dead. Cradling his brother, his whole world, in his arms, Dean wept. Sam’s eyes were closed, his expression peaceful, and his blood stained Dean red. 

Sam was dead. 

There was nothing else. 

Because Sam was dead.

He didn’t know how long he sat there. How long _they_ sat there. How long he railed at his little brother, receiving nothing in return.

“You don’t get to do this, Sam. It’s not the way it happens. You and me, right, kid? You and me until the very end?”

Yes… the two of them. Until the end. And now that ending was no more. That wasn’t right. There was another way. There _had_ to be another way. And he wasn’t going to find it sitting on his ass. 

He couldn’t leave Sam’s body there. Anyone might have taken it. In the end, dragging Sam’s lifeless body to Bobby’s had been the easy part. Keeping it there was harder, and while bobby was stubborn, Dean was more stubborn. In the end, and against Bobby’s wishes, Dean had set him down on the bed in the panic room, rather than on a funeral pyre. Day and night Dean sat there, and despite Bobby’s entreaties, Dean was unwilling to say goodbye. 

There was still a way. He knew there was a way.

“Dean…” 

It was a conversation they’d already had. Knowing exactly what Bobby was going to say, Dean cut him off. 

“If it were anyone else, Bobby, I’d do it. If it were anyone at all! But not Sam. This isn’t how it happens, Bobby. This is not how the Winchesters go down!”

Resting a hand against Dean’s back, Bobby spoke softly. “Dean. Son. We’ve still got a Winchester. You’re still here. And Sam’s not. Sam’s _dead_. You can’t do anything for him. Not now. And we need you. The end of the world, Dean… it’s coming.”

Shaking off Bobby’s hand, Dean glared.

“Then the world can end!”

Bobby fell back. “You don’t mean that, Dean!”

Pursing his lips, Dean turned his eyes back to Sam and refused to answer. Soon, he heard the old man sigh.

“I know you don’t mean that. Dean. I’ll leave you with Sam, for now. But remember, some of us are still living, and we need you too.”

Bobby left Dean to his silent vigil.

It wasn’t silent for long. 

“I’m so fucking sorry, Sam. I was supposed to look after you, and look what happened? I failed. I failed you. _God_. You didn’t deserve this.”

Sam never replied. And sometimes Dean lost his words, lost himself to grief. But he came back. He had to come back. There was still so much more to say.

“You’re never quiet. You’ve always got an opinion. Man, I’ve never met a kid with more opinions than you. So many times I just wanted you to shut the fuck up! But what I wouldn’t give to hear something, anything. Fuck, I even miss your pissy little faces. And they are possibly the most annoying thing on earth, Sam. How you manage to that, I’ll never know.”

As the trips down memory lane were paved with guilt, Dean didn’t know if he was begging for absolution or not. 

“I remember when you were just kid, jeez, you couldn’t have been more than four or five. And you started on with the questions. Why do other kids have a mom? What happened to ours? Where does dad go? How come we have to keep moving? There were never any easy answers were there? I didn’t want to answer. I think I begged you, just to stop asking. To stay a kid for longer. To get the childhood I never had.”

“I wanted that for you, Sammy. I wanted you to… God! I wanted you to have a goddamn childhood! I wanted so hard for you to have all the things that a normal kid had. And if I couldn’t do that? I had to at least keep you safe. That was my job, Sammy. To keep you safe.” He broke off on a choked sob. “Great job I did of that. You know, I’d give anything to have you back, Sam. Anything.”

It wasn’t like it was the first time he said it. But this time it sparked something, the seed of an idea.

“Fuck. I think… What if I…” Dean closed his eyes, brain whirring. It was stupid. The idea was stupid. But it was the only one he had. Decision made, his eyes snapped open and he glared at his brother. “Wait for me, Sam. I’ll be back.”

Now that he had a plan, there was no time to waste. After extracting a promise from Bobby that he wouldn’t touch Sam, he was out the door. Although not before Bobby got a promise in return: when he came back, they’d lay Sam to rest.

Dean agreed readily enough. It earnt him a confused look from Bobby, but he didn’t care. There was no way that Dean was returning without a way to bring Sam back. He didn't care what it cost him. He’d give his life for his little brother.

~o~

It just didn’t happen the way he expected.

~o~

Dean’s return, mere hours later, was met with a sad look. Bobby looked like he wanted to say something, but really, from his point of view, what was there to say? Dean had nothing to say, he was fighting too hard to keep his face blank, to not hope too hard. She’d promised… but until he saw for himself…

Bobby lead the way, walking into the panic room where Sam’s body lay. 

Had lain.

“What the fu-“ 

Bobby was backing out the door and Dean grabbed his arm. If Dean had to guess, Bobby was going for his shotgun, and that wasn’t happening, because Sammy was alive! Disoriented, and woozy, but definitely alive. 

Dean went to push past Bobby, but this time a firm grip on his arm stopped him. Eyes narrowed, Dean glared, but Bobby wasn’t moved. 

“What the hell are you-“

“You know the rules, boy.”

“No shotg-”

Bobby’s eyebrow twitched, but he nodded. Shaking Bobby’s hand off, Dean dropped back and waited. If he was being fair, he couldn’t blame Bobby. Hours ago, Sam was dead. And now he wasn’t. Under Bobby’s watchful gaze, a confused Sam drank holy water, was sprinkled with salt, and offered his palm to be cut with silver. 

He didn’t argue about it though, and he stayed calm. For that Dean was grateful, because he was having one hell of a fit in his own head. Not for the first time, he was grateful for the training that kept his face blank. Even though she’d promised, he hadn’t really believed that Sam was alive. 

But here he was. 

It worked.

It fucking worked! 

As Bobby went through the tests, relief flooded Dean’s body. It was Sam. It was really Sam.

Dean waited until Bobby gave him the reluctant go head before he pushed past, shooting Bobby a defiant look before dropping to his knees and taking Sam in his arms and hugging him like his life depended on it.

“Woah, Dean! What the hell is up with you?” Sam laughed. Dean blinked back tears and hugged his brother harder.

When he could finally let go (ignored Sam’s baffled complaints, both about the hugging and Bobby testing him), Dean turned back to Bobby. From the look in the old man’s eyes, he had a pretty good idea of what Dean had done, but for now he was keeping his peace. Dean was grateful, but unsurprised. There wasn’t time for anything else.

 _Now_ it was time to stop the end of the world.

~o~

The end of the world was coming, and Sam was busy trying to figure out how to stop Jake Talley from opening the Devil’s Gate. 

A little part of Dean was ashamed to admit it, but Sam’s hyper focus actually worked in his favour, giving him time to figure out what the hell to say to Sam. He’s still got no fucking idea. 

It not like he can tell the truth? How the fuck do you tell your family that you sold your soul. And then how do you say you've only got 12 months to live? He knew exactly what Sam would say: _You shouldn't have done that, Dean, I'm not worth it_. But Sam was wrong. He was worth it. Sam was worth fucking everything.

So he can’t tell the truth, and he can’t think of a lie. The only thing Dean knew was he was keeping this secret for as long as possible. Maybe until his death, which was coming sooner or later. If they even survived this, if he managed to hide it from his brother, then the hellhounds would be a dead giveaway.

Right now there were more important things to think about though. Because now that Sammy was back, saving the world was important too.

~o~

Somehow they did, save the world that is. They lost a lot – too much, too many good people – but when the gates shut, somehow they were still standing on the other side. And Dean knew it was worth it.

~o~

“I know you did something, Dean.”

Backed up against a wall, his brother hemming him in, Dean was out of time.

“I need to know what you did.”

There was an intensity to Sam's voice, an intensity that had been there since he returned. Well, mainly. It had been painful watching Sam go from completely focused to blank and back again. He’d realised something was wrong, even if he wasn’t sure what, and hardening his heart, Dean ignored the fear and uncertainty in his brother eyes. As well as Bobby’s pointed looks and probing questions.

Looked like he was out of time.

"I feel like I’m going crazy here! One moment I know what’s going on, the next I’m somewhere else and missing hours. And the dreams, Dean. I don’t think I need to tell you about the dreams…”

No. He didn’t. Dean watched Sam like a hawk. He knew every time Sam had a nightmare, and unlike Sam, he knew what they meant. 

“You did something, Dean. You need to tell me what it was."

Perhaps this is always how it was going to happen, it was always going to be Dean who drove the wedge between them. After dragging him kicking and screaming back into the hunting life, was Dean really just going to hand him the reason to leave?

Spots danced before Dean’s eyes and he gasped, trying to catch his breath. Why he was panicking he had no idea: it wasn’t as if this wasn’t inevitable.

 _Man up, Winchester_ , he snarled at himself. He wasn’t ashamed. He was _not_ ashamed. And he’d tell Sam like a man, not like a snivelling coward. It still took a moment for him to catch his breath and centre himself. Closing his eyes, he sent one last prayer to anyone who would listen. When he opened them, Sam was still there, staring at him with that same eerie intensity.

This was it. This was going to be the moment that Sam looked at him with disgust and walked away. But the fact that he was there to walk away, meant Dean didn't regret a goddamn thing. So straightening his back, he jerked his chin forward and stared Sam in the eye.

"You died. And I brought you back."

Horror bled into Sam's eyes before he hid his expression behind closed lids. Dean could feel Sam's body vibrate with restrained tension. Yup, his brother was a firecracker waiting to explode. 

Somehow, Sam managed to tamp it all down. When he opened his eyes, they seemed somehow calmer. It was all a facade. Dean _knew_ his brother.

"I thought Jake stabbed me," Sam offered, almost conversationally. "I have this memory of Jake telling me how hard it was, how he couldn't help it. How he had no choice, it was either them or him. And I talked to him, Dean. I told him that we could do it, together we could get out. We didn’t have to die. Neither of us did. I thought he was on my side. He certainly said he agreed with me, but between one second and the next, he changed. He looked," Sam glanced at the ground before looking up again, a mocking smile on his face. "He looked almost _demonic_. And that makes an awful lot of sense, doesn’t it, Dean? Given we, we were all Azazel's chosen children."

Sam lapsed into silence, and Dean waited. Sam deserved to be heard. Even though everything in him wanted to jump in, to defend himself, defend his actions… in the end it didn’t matter what Dean did.

Because it was about Sam. It was always about Sam. 

"It took me a while to figure it out, but we were sent there to die. To kill each other. All except one. One of us had to survive to… well, I don’t have to tell you, do I? You saw what we stopped.”

The sound of Sam swallowing was loud in the silence.

"But before then, I thought we’d walk out of it. Jake smiled. And then he stabbed me. I never saw it coming. Jake stabbed me, and told me how wrong Azazel had been, how wrong they’d all been. All the demons spoke about was me, how I was the favoured child, the one born to lead. In the end I was nothing but pathetic.”

“He stabbed me. He killed me. So he could be king.” Taking a deep breath, Sam fell silent. Dean could see him reliving those last moments, before he shook himself and looked at Dean once more. “The next thing I remember is I'm on the ground looking at you. You were there Dean, and I died. I died in your arms."

This time Dean closed his eyes. That was one of the worst moments of his life.

"So I died. _I died, Dean_. And instead of burning my body and giving me the hunter's funeral I _deserved_ ," and there was the first crack in Sam's iron control, "you did something, and I'm back. I’m back and I shouldn’t be here. So what did you do, Dean? What the fuck did you do? Am I even me? Is something missing?"

Once Sam's voice broke, there was no holding back. Spittle hit Dean's cheek as Sam shouted in his face. Chin thrust forward, Dean weathered the onslaught: this was nothing more than he deserved, nothing more than Sam was owed. And he needed it, needed his brother’s anger so he could start to atone for all he had done. 

And he needed it to keep Sam alive. Scared Sam was angry Sam. An angry Sam had purpose and life. Still, Dean had to help where he could, had to ease his brother’s fear. 

"Nothing is missing. You hear me, Sam? _Nothing_. You're you. You are one hundred percent _human_ Sam Winchester."

Not a flicker of belief crossed Sam’s eyes, so Dean helped him.

"Not a demon. Not a ghoul. Not a wraith. Not a shadow. Not a were.” Dean aggressively marked each off with his fingers. “Not a vamp, a ghost, or a wraith. We did all the tests when you got here, Sam. Remember?"

Sam interrupted with a snort. "Like I can trust that, Dean. Because look at me? I’m back. I’m here and I died! I shouldn't be here, but I-"

"Bobby did the tests!" Dean let his voice override Sam's. Poor kid was heading to a panic attack, and Dean didn't blame him one bit. "Bobby did everything we know, and then some. You think he stopped just because you passed the first three? Bobby is not only the most knowledgeable hunter I know, he’s also the most paranoid son of a bitch I’ve ever met, and that includes Dad, and Sam? He can't find a single thing that points to you not being human. So like it or not, you are back. You are here, and you are the genuine article."

At his words, Sam dropped back, eyes hooded. Dean's eyes tracked Sam's tongue, as he licked his lips nervously.

"You are Sam Winchester," Dean repeated firmly.

Fighting to keep his face neutral, Dean watched the expressions that flashed across his brother’s face. Fear and anger were dominant, but as the fear faded, his brain switched on. Dean swore he could see the moment when Sam started to question what Dean had actually done, and Dean knew he had to head him off. 

"Say I believe you, Dean, you still did something. So what exactly did you-"

But of course Sam was too quick. 

"I did what I had to do, Sam."

Sam exploded.

“What you had to do? What you had to do? Dean, I was _dead_! I was dead! Jake stabbed me and I bled out all over that sand and I fucking _died_. I'm not meant to be here! I'm a monster-"

In a moment Dean was on his brother, switching their positions and slamming Sam against the wall. Gripping Sam's flannel tightly, Dean shook his brother, ignoring the _thunk_ of his skull hitting the wall.

"You. Are. No. Monster. Never say that, Sam! Never say that again! You are exactly what you’re meant to and exactly where you're meant to be, with me. And you know what? I don't care if you don't like it. _I don’t fucking care_ , because at least you're here."

Letting go of Sam's shirt, Dean stepped back, gesturing flamboyantly towards the door.

"So you want to walk out now? That's fine. I'm not going to stop you. But I am never going to apologise for saving your sorry ass."

Sam, who had been slumped against the wall shook himself out, and barged past, shoulder catching Dean painfully. Standing there, Dean waited until he heard the door to Bobby's house slam shut. Only when he was certain he was alone did he let his tears fall.

Maybe he'd lost his brother, but at least he was here.

~o~

Much to Dean's surprise, Sam stayed. Sure, he ignored Dean, but every morning when Dean stumbled down the stairs, Sammy was already at the table, drinking coffee and reading through Bobby's old books. He was obviously looking for something, as Dean covertly noted how quickly the _read_ pile grew.

The first few mornings, Dean had made an effort. Grunted a greeting and cleared his throat encouragingly. After receiving zero response for his efforts, Dean respected Sam’s wishes and backed right the fuck off. The problem was, the longer Sam stayed, the more Dean’s heart told him he would be forgiven, that he would be ok.

The emotional toll was still heavy. The person Dean loved most in the world, his baby brother, the one he would, will… the one he _did_ sell his soul for, wanted nothing to do with him. Despite that fact that Dean could normally avoid an emotion at 50 paces, this was hurting in ways he hadn’t expected. In an effort to keep himself busy and make himself useful (so Bobby didn’t kick them out), he worked in the car yard. It was physically exhausting. Soothing even. But only physically. Dean could do this in his sleep, and it gave his brain a chance to work overtime.

So Dean did what he did best: self-medicated. Drinking til all hours, and working in the caryard the rest of the time meant he saw even less of Sam, which was better for his state of mind. And it was working! Working until Dean came stumbling in later than usual only to find Sam already seated at the table. Studying his watch, he decided it was five am. So it was early to be up, but not so early Dean was worried about Sam. Worried more than he already was. In fact, this was a good thing. Yes it was very good. Sam had woken up and come down stairs. Nodding his head enthusiastically, Dean was pretty pleased at solving the mystery. Although his pleasure was short lived, his head throbbing it’s disapproval at the sudden movement.

“Son of a bitch!” Dean muttered as he clutched his head and made a beeline for the coffee pot. He fucking hoped there was hot coffee.

As he passed Sam he grumbled an instinctive good morning. When he reached the coffee he froze, realising what he'd done when. _Fuck_! That wasn’t giving Sam the space he needed. The sound of coffee filling his cup cut the tense silence. Just when Dean was ready to flee the room, Sam returned the greeting. It was quiet, but it was there.

Dean almost dropped his coffee.

"What?"

Sam sent him an inscrutable look. "I said good morning. Although I'm surprised to see upright let alone capable of speech. When were you last sober?”

Ignoring the question, Dean took a long drink of coffee. Making a face he tipped it down the sink: stone cold.

"How long you been up," he asked instead, putting another pot on. Because now that he thought about it, Sam could have been up for any length of time. Plus he looked pretty awake, if you ignored the huge bags under his eyes and the air of exhaustion that hung around him. It was suspicious.

It was also Sam’s turn to ignore the question. Instead of answering, Sam gazed at him. He looked thoughtful and like he had questions. Pointed questions. It was the kind of look that Dean had been hoping to avoid. At the same time he basked in his brother’s attention.

He couldn’t enjoy it though. He didn’t deserve it. 

"Good chat," Dean told him abruptly. "Coffee's on, feel free to have as much as you want. I don't think I'm gonna-"

Sam's expression intensified into bitchface number 32 ( _you’re not going anywhere_ ) before his face smoothed.

"Yeah, okay.”

Dean blinked. "What?"

Sam was just... agreeing? Eyes narrowing, Dean immediately went on the defensive: maybe that demon bitch had been wrong, because this was not the brother he knew and loved. Sam was more of an aggressor when it came to getting what he wanted. Try as he might to keep his thoughts off his face, he failed - Sam's smirk was evidence to that. But instead of losing his cool, Sam leant back in his chair, staring across at Dean once more.

"You were clever, Dean. Enough truth to satisfy me, but not enough to tell the whole story. And just enough to make me angry and put me off your trail. You were right about one thing. I’m still mad as hell-"

Dean only hoped he managed to control his wince.

"-about what you did. I don't know if I forgive you either." Dean deserved that. "But there is something else, something you're hiding. Something important. And I'm going to find out what it is."

Jesus fucking Christ! Dean had to derail Sam immediately.

"Look, Sam-"

Sam just stood, marking his place before quietly closing his book. Leaning forward, he placed both hands on the table, his everything aimed towards Dean.

"This is not a conversation to have when you're drunk. But we will be having it, Dean. And sooner rather than later."

~o~

Slinking back to his room, Dean reflected that three weeks with his alive and kicking brother - even if he was ignored for most of that - was more than he'd expected and more than he deserved, if he was being honest. Holiday time was over. And while his first instinct was to run, and to get as far away from this mess as he possibly could, Sam had been right about one thing. There was something Dean was hiding. And he hoped to keep on hiding it.

~o~

He wasn’t good at hiding things from Sam. So plan B was to have a shower, sober himself up, and then get the hell out of there. It didn’t worked out that way. As soon as he sat on the bed instead of removing his boots, his body had somehow fallen sideways and sleep - or unconsciousness - had overcome him. By the time he'd woken up and had a shower he felt much better.

Until he realised his keys were missing.

Barrelling downstairs, he barged into the kitchen. Sam and Bobby were seating at the table. Frantically looking around, he could see the makings of coffee and dinner, but no-

"Looking for these, Dean?"

A muted jingle filled the air. Breathing deeply, Dean closed his eyes rather than turn and stare at the offending item dangling off the end of Sam’s finger. 

Fuck. He should have fucking known.

"You planning on going anywhere, son?"

Lips pursing, Dean took a deep breath before turning to the old man.

"Look, Bobby, I was just-"

"Just going to leave to avoid talking to me."

"You fella's talking now?"

Dean didn't have to look at the man to know his eyebrows would be hidden under his baseball cap.

"No-" started Dean

"Yes." Sam's disagreement cut across Dean's.

Crossing his arms over his chest, Bobby surveyed them.

"I don't know what you two idjits are up to, but-"

"I want to talk to Dean about what happened."

"Sammy, you know-"

"I know you brought me back, Dean. I know _you_ are the reason I'm here. And when we... when we talked last time, I was furious. Still am," he added, voice deceptively calm. "But I've also had time to think. You did something, Dean. You did something big. And I think you need tell me what it is."

Desperately Dean fought to find an answer that would satisfy Sam, but...

"I know you, Dean. And I need to know. This is… this is about me. And Dean, please... Please don't lie to me. Just... we have to trust each other, and if I can't trust you-" Sam's voice broke.

Bobby looked between the two of them before swearing. "Hell's bells boy, you didn't tell him?"

Throwing Bobby a tight lipped look, Dean turned away. Fuck. Nothing about the situation was okay. And if Sam thought Bobby knew before him, he was going to be pissed.

"Tell me what?"

Ah, he was wrong. Sam was already pissed. Clenching his fists, Dean took a deep breath. Why had he even put this off? Sam was right - it was about him and he had a right to know.

"I didn't tell Bobby, Sam. He figured it out."

There was obviously more to say, it was just hard when his throat had closed over. Fuck! It was still so hard to say!

“I… I cut a deal.”

Sam was a clever kid. Surely he didn’t need much more than that. But the long silence indicated that perhaps he did. Girding his loins, Dean straightened his back, and turned back to face his brother and Bobby. Bobby’s face had collapsed into distressed lines, and Sam’s face was hard.

“I cut a deal with a crossroads demon.”

“Dean-“

“Yeah, I traded. My soul for your life, and _don’t_ you fucking dare tell me it wasn’t worth it! Because it was, Sam. And I would do it again. I made my peace with it, so now you have to.”

Eyes narrowed, Dean dared his brother to say anything, anything at all. Sam narrowed his eyes in return.

“Dean-“

Bobby went to speak, and Dean held up a hand, hoping the old man would accept that Dean wasn’t ready to talk to him. Bobby had been understanding up until this point – a hell of a lot more understanding that Dean deserved, truth be told. Since that first time, when he’d tried to ask what Dean had done and Dean shut him down, Bobby hadn’t said a word about it. Hadn’t stopped looking at him with disappointment filled eyes either. But Dean was made of stern stuff. More times than he could count he’d been on the end of Sam’s sad expression. He could squash down any guilt Bobby managed to provoke.

It was more than he deserved. Amazing really, given that Dean had pretty much brought the apocalypse to his doorstep. As well as his dead brother, but since that was the whole conversation they were avoiding…

So while Bobby had wanted to know, he’d taken a step back when the situation between Dean and Sam had worsened. And now Dean owed Bobby, he owed Bobby more than an explanation, but right now he had to wait.

Because now there was Sam.

Sam who had already found his feet and was striding towards the door. Before Dean could call him back, he was gone. Dean felt a sad smile tug at his lips. This is why he hadn’t wanted to say anything. There was some lines you didn’t cross, even as a Winchester. The hope that had filled his heart, fled. But he wasn’t surprised. This was how it was meant to be.

Bobby made his way to Dean, and placed an uncertain hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently.

“Son, I…”

Bobby fought to find words and Dean just nodded. Reaching over his shoulder, Dean clasped his hand over Bobby’s. He appreciated the wordless support, after all he had no words of his own.

No words until Sam came charging back in, arms piled high with books. They fell to the table with a clatter. Staring open mouthed, Dean said nothing. When he looked back up at Sam, his angry gaze bore into him.

[](http://imgur.com/pW7LGAM)

“This isn’t the way it works, Dean,” Sam said. “We’re going to find a way out of this, and when we do-“ Sam pinned him with a fierce glare. “And when we do I’m going to kill you myself.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Bitchface 11: _You can’t stop me_**

Sam yelled at him. A lot. So did Bobby. And it was even worse when he told them he only got a year.

He’d tried to stay there, to listen to it all. But he couldn’t. It was too much, so without speaking – Bobby and Sam were saying more than enough – he grabbed his keys, hopped in Baby, and headed down the road.

He needed to sort himself out, and there was little in the world more soothing than long straight roads and his car. Many a time he’d just driven, driven until his head cleared and whatever it was didn’t matter anymore.

This time though, it didn’t work. No matter how loud the music, how straight the road, his mortality was staring him in the face. The shouted words of his brother and surrogate father echoing around his head. They were angry, hurt, betrayed. _Scared_. And he got it! He understood how they felt, and fuck, if he was being fair, if the tables were turned? He’d feel exactly the same way.

But he wasn’t being fair. 

Although he did come back. Pulling up in baby, he grabbed his burgers, cramming one in his mouth before he was even in the door. Bobby raised disapproving eyebrows at him.

“Bacon cheeseburgers? For breakfast?”

Dean took his time chewing, before he swallowed loudly. “Well, since I sold my soul, I’ve only got a year… sorry,” Dean made a huge show of checking his watch, “ _Eleven months_ , I’m not gonna worry about cholesterol.”

Sam stormed out of the kitchen, just as Dean had known he would. He waited a moment before turning intense eyes on Bobby.

“You gotta keep him here, Bobby. It’s gonna kill him being without me.”

That surprised a laugh out of the old man.

“What the hell do you expect me to do, Dean?”

“He’ll listen to you, and-

“Who do you think you’re kidding, Dean! You boys, neither of you, have listened to me in a long time. Sam’s not going to stay with me, any more than you weren’t gonna trade your soul.”

“Bobby-“

“And if you leave without him, all that’s gonna happen is he’ll follow you from one end of the country to the other until he finds your sorry ass. Now you’re wily, son, I’ll give you that. But if Sam is on your tail? You ain’t got a hope.”

Angrily Dean stuffed the last of his burger in his mouth.

“I know, Bobby! I know that. But there is nothing he can do. Nothing you can do. And I can’t stand to stay here doing nothing!”

“Dean-“

“I appreciate everything you’ve done, Bobby, but I have to get away from here!”

“Away from Sam.”

The words were stark and Dean nodded tightly. While he never would have come out and said it, it felt good to clear the air. A clean, healthy, heartbreak.

“You understand, Bobby?” If Dean ignored the break in his voice, hopefully Bobby would too.

Bobby heaved a sigh. “Yeah, son. I do. But I think I should warn you-“

“I’m coming too.”

Fuck. Dean didn’t even have to turn around to know the expression that was stamped on his brother’s face. Taking a peek, Dean couldn’t help but shake his head. Bitchface 11. He even had his packed duffle over his shoulder. Like that wasn’t familiar.

While Dean appreciated the support, it had to stop. No way was he bringing his brother into such a dangerous situation. Unknown, dangerous situation.

“Sam-“

“No.”

The word was a gunshot. Recoiling, Dean stared at his brother. 

“What?”

Stomping forward, Sam pushed past, stalking straight to the impala, throwing his bag on the back seat before turning back to them. Crossing his arms across his chest, Sam leant one hip against the door, his expression dared Dean to say anything.

“Sammy, you can’t-“

“Can’t what? Leave my idiot older brother who sold his soul, for the cheap price of one year, to go off hunting on his own. Damn right I can’t, Dean! There is no way, no way on earth I am letting you travel alone! You’ve proven you’ve got no common fucking sense and I am not going to spend the next year worrying about you.” 

Sam was shouting by the end. Dean snapped his mouth shut.

“And I haven’t given up. I’m still gonna find a way to save you. But until then, it’s you and me, Dean. You and me. That’s what it is. So don’t you even think about going anywhere without me.”

Sam blinked rapidly, washing the tears from his eyes. Dean still didn’t know what to say and Sam, deciding he was useless, opened the passenger door to Baby and planted himself mutinously on the seat. Floundering a little, Dean turned to Bobby. Bobby’s face was locked in a scowl of deep emotion.

“Well, you heard the boy. Scram.”

So he did.

Driving down the highway, his brother at his side, for the first time in a long time Dean felt like things might work out.


	11. Chapter 11

**Bitchface 37: _What were you thinking?_**

It was an uneasy truce, made more uneasy by the fact that Sam was hiding something. Dean wasn’t stupid. He’d been caught up in his own stuff, but now that he was looking at Sam? Something was definitely going on. And because of his own stupid agreement, he couldn’t quiz Sam on it.

But he watched. And he worried.

~o~

Apparently he wasn’t the only one who worried.

“What the fuck was that, Dean?”

Shooting his brother an incredulous look, Dean turned back to his leg. Chewing on his lip, he wondered if the gash had stopped bleeding enough for him to take the cloth away. Deciding it would be easy enough to put the pressure back on if it was a bad idea, he lifted the pressure.

~o~

One pissed off brother and multiple blood spatters later, Dean decided that had been a really bad idea.

“Look, I’m sorry, Sam! I had no idea it would do that. And it wasn’t as if it was on purpose. You were over the other side of the room!”

Although the words weren’t soothing, the intent was meant to be, since Dean had splashed Sam with his blood – and seriously, it was an accident, Dean didn’t want to bleed out, not even for a joke. But Sam had not been soothed. If anything, Dean had pulled the raging tiger’s tail. 

Oops.

“I can practically see the steam coming out of your ears, Samm _ow_!”

Okay, okay. Don’t mess with the asshole who’s sewing up your leg. Once Sam had finished, he quickly and mechanically cleaned up the mess. It wasn’t so bad, which was maybe why his brother was so pissed...

“I’m sorry we had to leave, okay? I didn’t realise I’d get blood all over the walls and-“

Sam slammed his hands down on the desk he’d stomped over too. Dean’s jaw dropped. What the hell?

“What the hel-fuck, what the fuck is your problem, Sam? I said I’m sorry, I didn’t _mean_ to get blood everywhere, so-“

“Do you really think that’s the problem, Dean?”

Dean jerked back. That had been Sam’s seriously angry voice. A quick glance at his face revealed he was seriously fucking furious. Beyond a bitchface, which was disturbing. Dean attempted to backtrack.

“I mean, yeah? I’m not sure what else you’d be-“

“ _What about the way you jumped in front of a corporal fucking ghost that we_ knew _had an axe_?” Sam’s mouth opened before he stopped himself. It was amazing to see, actually, a furious Sam somehow pull himself inwards. When he spoke again his voice was like a knife. “So what was that, Dean? _What the fuck were you thinking_?”

Ah, there it was, bitchface 37. Shooting his best _what the fuck_ in return, Dean threw his hands out, more in confusion than supplication.

“ _That_ is your problem? You’re pissed because I saved them?”

“ _You could have died_.”

Alrighty then. There went any semblance of calm Sam. The stupid thing was, Dean wasn’t trying to piss his brother off. This was what they always did? Finding his feet, Dean took a cautious step towards Sam. Son of a bitch, that hurt. Hiding his pain, Dean reached out to his brother. 

“Sam, I’m not yanking your chain here. It’s actually our job, remember? To save people. We always almost die.”

He chuckled, although he knew it wasn’t funny. Sam certainly didn’t find it amusing. There was no warning before Sam was shoving him hard. Choking off a cry of pain, he stumbled reaching for his injured leg, but Sam and momentum kept him moving until his back hit the wall. Before he could do much more than curse his pain, Sam had him pinned. Pushing against the hands grasping his wrists, he was unable to shake himself free. Dean scowled. When had the bitch got that much stronger than him?

“I don’t think you understand, Dean. You are not going to die. _You are not going to die_!” Sam was shouting the last.

Dean blinked, not sure how they’d got from hunting to that.

“Sam…I-“

“No. No! I don’t want to hear it, Dean! I’ve gone along with this not talking about it, but not anymore! You’ve lost hope? _Fine_. I don’t fucking care, because I am going to find a way to save your sorry ass, and you can thank me later.”

Sam let go and stepped back, Dean slumping before he caught himself. Looking up at his brother, Dean wondered what to say. What the fuck did you say to that? Apparently Sam had no such problems.

“It stops, Dean.”

“Sam-“

“Not the hunting.”

How the fuck did Sam always know what he was thinking?

“I get that. I get that you need _normality_ , but no more taking… No more taking stupid risks. You can’t do that, Dean. You can’t do that to me. I can’t… You can’t go… I’ve only got four more months.”

With a wince, Dean made his way to his brother, taking him in his arms, and holding on like his life depended on it. For all Sam spoke tough, he knew as well as Dean there was no way out of this. Dean had just accepted it earlier. But he also knew he couldn’t ignore Sam’s plea. For the moment he had to live. He had to live for Sam.


	12. Chapter 12

**Bitchface 88: _Not again_**

Heat of the Moment blared from the radio and it’s still Tuesday. Sam’s hanging on by a thread. 

How many more times could he go through this? How many times could he watch Dean die before he was pushed too far?

“Hey! The daily special! Pig in a poke with a side of bacon. Sounds great.”

Dean’s jolly voice was like a razor against his veins. Could he really do this again?

“But… I’m in the mood for pancakes. Is chocolate syrup a healthy breakfast choice?”

Sam’s head jerked up. Pancakes? He didn’t see Dean, but instead a man eating pancakes. He’d been there every day - they’d all been there every day - but today honey dripped in slow motion onto his pancakes. Yesterday it had been syrup. The day before it had been syrup. It had always been syrup. 

Feeling his gaze, the pancake eater looked up and caught Sam’s eye. Smiling, he slid off his chair, and smartly exited the diner. Before his brain had time to process, he was on his feet and out the door, Dean’s _Hey, Sammy? Where you off to? They’ve got pancakes!_ echoing in his ears. 

He may have tossed some reply over his shoulder, he wasn’t sure. He barely even registered Dean choking on his pancakes, although somewhere in the background he heard the thud of a body hitting the table, and the flurry of activity in the background. None of that was important. Not when he knew he had the culprit pinned against a fence. He wasn’t letting go until he had answers.

“Who are you?”

The man looked frightened, before a smirk crossed his face.

“Awwww, Sammy! I can’t believe you don’t remember me.”

Even as the smug expression prodded at a memory, the face before him melted, changed into something else. Someone else.

“ _You_!”

A grin he recognised greeted his words. Pulling a tootsie pop out of his pocket, he it in his mouth, sucking obscenely loudly.

“Took you long enough. I was starting to think I’d have to hump your leg to get you to notice me.”

“You! We killed you!” 

Sam’s hands dug into the tricksters arms, his knuckles whitening with the the pressure. It didn’t seem to bother him, he just grinned wider. 

“Looks like you failed there, Sammy.”

Somehow his hands were around the tricksters’ throat. “Don’t. Call. Me. Sammy.”

Choking dramatically, the trickster’s face turned red, then purple, before he pushed Sam back. Even in the midst of his fury, he noted how easy it was. 

“Got it, got it. Only Dean-o can call you that.”

Glowering, Sam tried to order his thoughts. It was obvious that Dean’s deaths – all of them – were down to this asshole, but the question was why.

“Why?”

“Why? You have to be more clear, because I-”

Sam slammed a fist into the wall beside him. The skin split and blood oozed out. Rolling his eyes again, the trickster snapped his fingers, and Sam felt the flesh re-knit. He didn’t move though. He was staying there until he got a response. He had patience. He just had to keep his cool.

“Ohhhhh! Why did I have Dean-o killed again and again and again?”

Somehow Sam’s blade embedded itself in the trickster’s shoulder. He didn’t remember carrying a blade, and as good as it felt, it was a waste of time and effort. 

“Oh! I’m wounded!”

The asshole didn’t even pretend it hurt. Shaking with fury, Sam pulled the blade out and stepped back. There was a soft _thud_ as the tricksters feet hit the ground. With a lascivious wink,the trickster ran his hand over his shoulder, and it was like the wound never was.

Sam still wanted answers.

“Is this some sick joke?”

Tilting his head, the trickster grinned before his expression became serious.

“Jokes are my style,” he admitted. “But this is no joke.”

“Then why?” Sam wasn’t ashamed at the way his voice broke. He’d just watched his brother die 108 times.

“109, actually, since he just choked on the-“

“ _Why_.”

Eyes narrowed, the trickster stared at him, before sighing and looking at the sky. 

“I thought you were smarter than that, Sam.”

“I swear if you don’t tell me, I’ll-“

“You’ll what? Hunt me down? Admire your tenacity kiddo, but you find me when I want to be found. One hundred and nine times you’ve watched your brother die, and you still don’t get it? Every day, Sam, every day you watched that and you were still out there, looking for answers, for a way out. But what happens when Dean’s hell deal comes good? There’s no second chances. It doesn’t matter what the heck you do, _Dean is going to die_.”

Sam flinched back.

“He’s not.”

“Sam-”

“ _He’s not_. There’s a way. I know there’s a way and I’m going to find it.”

The trickster stared at him, eyes intense, before he dropped his gaze and huffed a laugh. 

“Stubborn, so stubborn. No wonder you’re Luci’s vessel.” The words were so soft Sam wasn’t sure he heard them. Pursing his lips, the trickster appeared to come to a decision. “I’m doing this for your own good, but I can see nothing’ll convince you. Not this time.”

“What the hell does that-”

~o~ 

Sam never got to finish the sentence. He even forgot what he was going to say, because when Sam woke up it was Wednesday and Dean was there.


	13. Chapter 13

**Bitchface 0**

He knew his time was up. Almost up. 

Even if Sam hadn’t been frantically searching. 

Even if they didn’t share a quiet look over the morning newspaper. 

Even if pain and fear and terror hadn’t etched themselves deeper into Sam’s face each day, Dean would have known there was less than a week to go.

The howls were getting louder. Closer.

“You can hear them, can’t you?” Sam’s voice was quiet, but there was enough intensity to pull Dean from his reverie.

When Dean looked at his brother, he could hardly stand the sorrow in Sam’s face. Knowing he had put it there was more than he could bear.

“Hear what?” It was accompanied with his trademark smirk. He’d added a little eyebrow quirk in for good luck.

If Dean had been hoping to pull a smile from his brother, or maybe even a bitchface, he failed. Instead, Sam just stared at him, waiting. Dean couldn’t help huffing a laugh at himself. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined he’d miss his brother’s bitchy expressions.

Lots of things he’d never imagined.

The need to protect Sammy had him opening his mouth, ready to break the tension with some wisecrack, but with the words on the edge of his tongue, Dean paused. Nothing he could say would help. And… and Sam deserved honesty. After all, if he couldn’t be honest now, then when?

“Yeah,” he admitted softly. “For a few weeks now.”

Pausing, he gave Sam ample opportunity to interrupt. Sam always had something to say, except this time. So Dean spoke on.

“They’ve been hunting me. For so long, I’ve caught the scent of sulfur, heard them howling in the distance. And now? They… They’re getting louder, Sammy. Closer.” Dean’s breath hitched. “They’re getting closer. Sometimes… sometimes I can feel the burn of their breath on the back of my neck.”

It was hard to look at his brother. 

“Dean! Why didn’t you tell me?”

Awkwardly, Dean shrugged. Reaching out, his hands hit his coffee cup – and he heaved a silent sigh. He wished they were having this conversation over full beers rather than empty coffee cups. He fiddled with the cup uncomfortably, until Sam removed it from his grasp.

“Sam.”

“Dean.”

Even without looking at his brother, he knew what he would see. Sorrow. Fear. Horror. Dean just couldn’t look. It was his job to protect Sam, not hurt him, and if he had to see his brother’s pain, the pain he’d caused, he’d crack.

Brotherly telepathy was working though, and Sam grabbed his hand squeezing. Dean was pathetically grateful.

“Dean, why didn’t you tell me?”

Shrugging again, Dean looked harder at the table top. Why did he do anything? There was so much he wanted to, needed to, tell his brother, but he didn’t know where to start. Still he fought to find his words. He owed his brother that.

“No point,” he eventually managed. “Every day you were looking for answers, and every day you… we,” he belated corrected himself, “every day _we_ came up empty handed. And then we didn’t talk about it, and it got harder to say anything. And I didn’t want to, y’know, worry you-“

“ _You didn’t want to worry me_?!”

Dean cracked a smile. Okay, that was ridiculous even for him. It gave him enough balls to look his brother in the face though.

“It felt like… there was no point.” Oops. He already said that. “I mean, we knew the days were passing, and it… No, I mean…” Dean should his head roughly. “What good would it have done, Sam? Everything was already fucked up without you dealing with that too.”

Sam’s eyes glistened with unshed tears.

Dean really wanted a beer.

~o~

Sam stopped looking. At least, Dean assumed he did, since he didn’t mention it anymore. Not a word. Not until the day Dean’s deal came due.

“We have to stop this Dean. There has to be a way.”

His brother’s voice was a mess: pain, hope, and something else, something darker fighting for dominance. Dean wished there was something he could do, wished there was some way to save his brother from the pain.

“We can’t.” Dean really hoped his voice was steady. “We’ve been looking, and looking, and looking. And then we stopped, Sam. We stopped because there wasn’t anything else to look at. We stopped because there’s no way to get out of this. And now… now my time’s up. I can’t, don’t-“

Dean broke off. That time his voice really did break. Because he was fucking terrified.

“You know I’m sorry, right, Sammy? I’m sorry that I put you through this, all of this.”

Sam didn’t say anything. And finally Dean said the words he’d tried not to say.

“I’m scared. I didn’t think I would be. But I’m so scared, Sam.”

They were Dean’s last words. Other than the screams.

~o~

Sam sat there, his brother’s broken and bleeding body in his arms.

“No, Dean… Those are not your last words. This is not how it goes. You and me, right? You and me until the very end, right?”


	14. Chapter 5: I'm Home

**Bitchface 101: _Welcome back, jerk_**

Choking, Dean forced his way up, hands pushing against an endless tide of earth.

Finally breaching the surface, Dean sat there, trying to get his breath back under control. Once he could breathe without hyperventilating, his brain clicked into gear (must have been all that oxygen), and he couldn’t help but wonder what the fuck had happened. The last thing he remembered was standing before some poor soul, knife in hand.

Which didn’t explain how he found himself here.

“I’m in a forest?”

But it wasn’t really a forest. Or at least the bit where it was no longer a forest. More like a-

“What the fuck happened?”

Around his grave (because there was no getting around that little fact, Dean had just pushed his way out of his fucking _coffin_ ) was a perfect circle of burnt earth. And like that wasn’t freaky.

Perhaps not freakier than the fact that he wasn’t in Hell anymore…

Fuck. He wasn’t in Hell anymore. 

It was too cold for one thing. And it smelt… fresh. Like earth. It felt like earth. It looked like earth. And when he looked at himself… well it was hard to see, but he seemed to look exactly the same. Pulling up his shirt (if Sammy was still alive, he’d have to thank him for burying him in clothes. And a body. Which he really shouldn’t have. God, he had a lot to say to his brother), Dean still looked like himself. Like himself but… different? He ran a gentle finger over his ribs. Before…before there were three jagged claw marks. A werewolf hunt gone wrong. And when he twisted to look at the back of his arm, the burns from the car crash weren’t there. Checking over his body, all the marks from his fuck ups were gone. 

There was nothing, not even the bite and tear marks from the hellhounds. 

And that was one thought too many. Kneeling in the dust, Dean dry retched his way through wave after wave of nausea. He couldn’t… he didn’t…

Dean didn’t know what to think. So he did what he did best: once he could stand, he found his feet, cleared his mind, and headed off to find out some goddamn answers.

An hour later and he hit the highway. And there was nothing. No cars, no trucks, no bikes and no people. He couldn’t help cursing. Did they really need to bury him in the middle of fucking nowhere? Grumbling to himself, Dean headed right. When in doubt, hang the right, he told himself. 

And perhaps there was some sort of building hiding at the edge of his vision.

It was a gas station.

“Halle-fucking-luiah,” Dean muttered, breaking into a trot.

As he got nearer, he realised it was closed. So that made it a Sunday? It figured he’d return on the day of rest. But no rest for the wicked, right?

Since there was no one else there, Dean laughed at his own joke. Walking up to the door, he pushed. It was locked. 

“Hello? Anyone here?”

No response was expected and none was received. That made things easier.

Seconds later, Dean had jimmied the lock and was in. Nice to see he hadn’t lost any of his skills while down below. The grin on his face fled as images of blood and death and-

 _No_.

No, he could not think of that right now. Right now he had to get himself some sustenance, some cash, and try and figure out where the hell he was.

It should have been a quick in and out job, but he delayed as he passed the magazine stand he couldn’t help but see a welcome image.

“Yes! Busty Asian Babes, _Setember_?”

September _this year_. That didn’t seem right. He’d been down below much longer. Decades, not months. Images of blood and guts and fire flicked past his eyes, images that went on and on and on and on. It was years of pain. 

He had to get out. Shaking his head, Dean lurched towards the door, stopping as the TV turned on. 

“What the fuck?”

There was no picture, just static. Cautiously, he edged closer, and hit it. All that changed was pitch. 

That and all the radios turned on. He’s got no idea what’s happening, but it can’t mean anything good. Deciding to get the hell out of there, Dean manages two steps before a high pitched sound fills the room and doesn’t fucking stop. Dropping his supplies, Dean grabs his ears, hoping to stop the brain rattling sound. Teeth gritted, eyes screwed shut he falls to his knees, dropping forward as the sound intensifies again. His scream is covered by the _crack_ of glass shattering around him. He doesn’t even feel the bite of the glass as it falls on him, too busy trying to stop the shrieking in his head. 

As suddenly as it came, the sound went. On the ground, Dean blinked for a moment, the silence broken by the blare of the gas station alarm. Definitely time to hit the road. Pocketing his supplies, Dean raided the cash register before heading out. Somehow he’s gotta get in touch with Sam, but before then, he needed to be as far away from this gas station as possible. 

~o~

“Thanks, I appreciate the lift.”

The trucker lifted a half-hearted hand in response, before continuing down the road. Dean stood there, watching as the taillights faded into the distance. If his luck held, the truckstop would have a payphone. 

~o~

“C’mon, Sammy. Pick up the fucking phone...”

 _The call you made could not be connected. The call you made could not be connected. Please check the number and try again. The call you made-_ ”

Dean stared at the handset, shocked. What the fuck? Sam had disconnected his fucking phone? It had only been four months? He’d already given up on Dean? What the hel-heck (Dean’s stomach gave a warning lurch) was he supposed to do?

“ _Fuck_!”

Dean shook his fists at the sky, overwhelmed with frustrating. What the fuck was going on. Forcing his breath to still, and his fingers to unclench, Dean reached for the phone again. There was one old asshole who wouldn’t have changed his number. Punching in the digits, the phone rang four times before a gruff voice demanded to know his business.

“It’s three in the goddamn morning, this better be important!”

Dean had never been so glad to hear the cantankerous old bastard’s voice. “Oh thank Christ! Bobby it’s me.”

Silence. Complete and utter silence. Pulling back, Dean stared at the phone. Could there be a bad connection?  
“Bobby? It’s Dean. Look I’m sorry about the time, but- Bobby? _Bobby_?”

Dean was talking into a dial tone.

Shock slowly gave way to anger. 

“I’ve had enough of this shit,” Dean muttered as he slammed the handset home. A quick look around assured him that no one was around - as Bobby quite rightly pointed out, it was three in morning - so he didn’t bother hiding as he stalked towards the most inconspicuous car he could find. The white Honda wasn’t a patch on Baby, but it would get him to where he needed to go. 

Moments later, Dean peeled out of the carpark. If the mountain wouldn’t talk to Mohammad, them Mohammad would go and climb the fucking mountain.

~o~

Less than 24 hours later Dean was banging on Bobby’s door. A muffled curse, and the sound of a shotgun being cocked were his welcome.

“I don’t know what you-“ Bobby’s jaw dropped along with his gun. “Dean?

Pasting a cheeky grin on his face, Dean gestured down his body. “In the flesh!”

For some reason Dean didn’t expect the fist to the face. 

~o~

“I guess you want some answers.”

Dean dropped the icepack, and prodded gently at his eye. Hissing, he turned his one good eye on Bobby. “That’s how you greet a friend? And what the hell? I thought you were a pencil pusher now.”

The old man grunted in response, but at least he put a beer in front of Dean. 

“Any other tests before you try and poison me?”

Yeah it was rude, but Bobby had just tried to kill him! Bobby, for his part, looked supremely unconcerned. 

“What do you expect, Dean? You’re dead. Were dead,” he added uncertainly. 

Snorting, Dean took his first swallow of beer. “Yeah.”

They drank in silence, both lost in their own thoughts. It was Dean who spoke first. 

“So, I guess we should talk.”

Bobby snorted. “You got that right, kid. But we’ll wait for your brother to get here. I’m pretty sure you don’t want to be telling that story twice.”

While Dean appreciated the consideration, he latched onto the part about Sam. “What, you’ve got his number? I tried to call, but I couldn’t get through-”

Looks like they’d have something to talk about until Sam got there. 

~o~

It took two days for Sam to get there. Two days before the screech of tires, and the slam of a car door, disturbed the peace of Bobby’s kitchen.

Baby! Dean thought. He would know that sweet sound anywhere! Although he’d have to have a word with Sam about how to treat a lady because-

Dean’s thoughts were interrupted as Sam slammed into the house. Bobby, who’d rolled his eyes and headed over to the coffee pot at the sound of Sam’s arrival – raised his eyebrows rather pointedly.

“You raised in a barn, boy?”

Sam ignored him. His eyes bore into Dean and he strode forward only to pull himself up short.

“You sure, Bobby?”

Bobby shrugged, and turned back to the coffee. “Sure as I am about anything. I mean you could-“

He probably kept talking. Dean wasn’t sure, because he found himself smothered in his brother’s chest. Feeling the way his brother’s body shook, Dean let him hold him, until he really couldn’t breathe. Tapping out, Sam loosened his hold, but he didn’t let go. Instead his hands slid along Dean’s arms.

Holding him at arm’s length, he pinned him with an expression Dean hadn’t known he would miss.

“Dean, _what the fuck have you been up to _?”__

__Closing his eyes, Dean took a deep breath, swallowing back his tears. Bitchface 101. He was home._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and there we have it! the fic that has been eating my time for the past few months. It was a challenge, and a real pleasure to finish it. 
> 
> As a writer I thrive on feedback, so feel free to let me know what you think. 
> 
> And definitely head over to let winchesterchola know that you loved the art! ([here](http://stargazingchola.livejournal.com/6791.html) on lj!)


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